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Uncle Consider's Advice. 

" Don't you never blow a man's branes out to git his money, Eli; 
but you jes* sly aroun 1 an" blow Ms money out, an* so git his branes." 

J2 ^5 

Eli Perkins 




With Multiform Illustrations 

After models by those designing young men, Nast, Darley, Fredericks^ 
Eylnge, White, Stephens and others. 



"T^v OF CO" ?"^\ 
84 y 



: i t 





Printed and Bound by Donoshtb & Hennbberby, Chicago 




" I have the honor," said General Butler, at the 
Medical-Lego dinner at Delmonico's — "I have the 
'ionor of knowing three of the greatest liars — the 
greatest living liars in America." 

" Wr j are they ? " asked the venerable Sam Ward, 
as he dropped a chicken partridge to listen to the 

" Well, sir," said the General, as he scratched his 
head thoughtfully, " Mark Twain is one, and Eliar 
Perkins is the other two!" 

Arise and sing! 




New York Religion ...--•- 3 

Eli's Baby Story ------- 3 

Senator Blaine Tells Eli Perkins a Story - - 4 

Mrs. Perkins Finds a Gentle Horse - 5 

Eli Perkins on American Bulls - 7 

Eli in Richmond, Va. ------ 8 

Uncle Consider, on Temperance, - 9 

Solitaire Diamonds, 13 

Eli Perkins in hot water, - 16 

Eli on fire-proof houses, ----- 20 

Dreadful Profanity, 23 

Eli Perkins's Pen Pictures, ----- 24 

A Fifth Avenue Episode, 28 

A Lonesome Man, - 30 

About Children, 34 

Servantgalism, .-----. 38 

Uppertendom, -- 40 

Letter from Aunt Charity, 45 

The Literary Girl, 51 

Uncle Consider as a Crusader, ... - 55 

Eli in Love, 58 

Brown's Boys, 60 

A Brown's Boy in Love, 66 

Brown's Boys in New York, - - - 68 

Rich Brown's Boys , * - 74 

Brown's Girls, 78 

Advice to Yo tt ng Men, 84 

The Funny Side of Fisk, ------ 87 

Rev. Eli Perkins, 98 

A Sad Man, 102 

A Queer Man, -.*•••»•• 104 



Eli's Happy Thoughts, ------ 106 

The Legal-Minded Man, • . 109 

A Grateful Man, --•--•- Ill 
A Consistent Man, - - - - • • -114 

The Dancing Mania, - - 115 

The Military Man, ------- 117 

The Horse Man, - 119 

The Pious Man, 120 

A Frontiersman, -------- 121 

The Hackman, 124 

Sewers and sowers, ------- 125 

Hard on Lawyers, ------- 127 

E. Perkins — Attorney at Law, - 129 

How Donn Pirate Thrashed Eli Perkins, - - 131 

A Day at Saratoga, 135 

The ells at Saratoga, ------ 140 

Minnie in Saratoga, ------- 143 

Married Brown's Boys at Saratoga, - - - 150 

Eli's Belle of Saratoga, ------ 155 

Brown's Boys at Saratoga, 157 

Up to Snuff, -------- 160 

A Flirting Dodge, - - - - - - - 162 

Fall of Another Clergyman, .... - 164 

The Swell Dress Parade, ------ 166 

The Good Man, 169 

Owed to Franklin Statue, ----- 172 

A Parrot Story, ------ - 172 

The Rat Story, -----.--173 

Travers and Clews, - - - - - - - 173 

Travers on Fisk and Gould, ----- 174 

Pawn-Shop Clothes, ------- 175 

Where Ducks Live, ------- 175 

Five Hundred Dollars Saved, ... - 176 

Tip of the Fashion, ------- 177 

Shirking from Work, • ••••• 177 

Trunk Smashers, --.- ----178 

Eli on Dominie Ford, ------ 179 

A Hard Name, ••-•••••179 



Eli on the F. F. C's., ---•-• 180 

The Meanest Man Yet, ------ 181 

Newspaper Goke, ------- 182 

Eli on Ana, • - - 182 

Animate Nature, .-..,--- 183 
Original Poetry, - - - - • • - -183 

Complimentary, -------- 184 

Babies, ---------- 184 

Tight Lacing, -------- 185 

Som-et-i-mes, --------- 185 

Grammar, ---.----- 186 

Eli Perkins's Blunders, - - . - - 186 

Nice Arable Land, ------- 188 

Money Close, ---------188 

Indifference, -------- 189 

The Whiskey War, - - - 189 

Fun in Washington, Ohio, ----- 190 

Terribly Indignant, ------- 191 

The Unsuspecting Man, ------ 191 

Very Dangerous, - - - - - - 192 

Wood, 193 

Saratgoa Betting, - - - - - - - -193 

Wicked and Profane, ------ 194 

Mr. Marvin's Blunder --«-«.-*- 194 

Poor but Honest, ----... 195 

Precise Statements, - - 195 

Early to Bed, -------- iqq 

Personal Matters, 196 

Small Feet, - 197 

Little Perkinsisms, - - - - . - - 199 

Eli Perkins's New Year's Calls, - - - - 203 

How Eli Perkins Lectured in Pottsville, - . 211 

Scaring a Connecticut Farmer, - - - 222 

Eli Perkins as a Baloonatic, ----- 225 

The Shrewd Man, ------- 233 

Lost Children ln New York, ----- 237 

The Absent Minded Man, - - - - - - 246 

Crime in Saratoga, - 249 



I Lofe an Honest Poy, 252 

"Get There Eli"— Its Origin, 254 

Lecture Experience, 258 

Time is Money, - - - 258 

The New Silver Dollar - - - - - - 259 

A Sermon ----.-.-- 259 

Eli and the Detroit Barberess, - 260 

A Kind Word for Eli - - - - ■ - - 262 

Eli on Proposing - - 263 

Eli on John Chinaman 265 

A Death Sentence Revoked ----- 265 

Three-Card Monte Men 270 

Why Eli Became a Lecturer 273 

Eli Perkins on Thad Stevens 274 

Newspaper Witticisms 274 

Eli Perkins Strikes a Rich Man ... - 276 

Eli Perkins on Children 277 




"John," said a rich New York grocer to his man, 
have you mixed the glocuse with the sugar ? " 
" Yes, sir." 

" And sanded it, too ? " 
" Yes, sir." 

" Dampened the tobacco ? *' 
" Yes, sir." 

" And watered the whisky ? " 
" Yes, sir." 
" Then you may come in to prayers." 


" LiLLiE,did you say your prayers last night? " asked a 
fashionable New York mother of her sweet little girl 
who remained home while the mother went to the 
Charity Ball. 

" Yes, mamma, I said 'em all alone." 

" But who did you say them to, Lillie, when your 
nurse was out with me ? " 

" Well, mamma, when I went to bed, I looked around 
the house for somebody to say my prayers to, and there 
was'nt nobody in the house to say 'em to, and so I said 
'em to God." 



" There was a young man from Bangor," said Senator 
Blaine to me this morning, " who came to Saratoga. He 
was a very smart young man at home — this young man 
from Bangor. He could win large bets at the baseball 
games when his brother was pitcher, and he could even 
earn money, like General Schenck and Henry Waterson, 
playing poker. 

" The other day," continued Mr. Blaine, some of my 
Maine friends told me that this young man went down to 
Reed's Saratoga Club House. He bet high and lost. 
Then he hauled out a roll of bills and bet more — only to 
lose. Finally he bet his last cent. He lost that. Then 
knowledge struck him. A light broke in upon him, and 
he seized his hat and said: 

" What ? Mr. Blaine — what did he say ? " I asked, 

" I will tell you what he said Eli. He said : " Gentle- 
men, I don't think I know enough to play this Saratoga 
game — but, by gosh! I know enough not to! " 


My wife having been run away with once is always 
afraid the horse is going to run away with her again. 
Yesterday, when Harrington, who runs the Maplewood 
Hall stables, at Pittsfield, Mass., brought up a span, he 
had to stand the usual questioning : 

" Now, are they very gentle ? " 

" Oh, certainly — kind as kittens." 

" Did they ever run away ? " 

« Never." 

" Do you think they could run away ? " 

Harrington looked at the horses sadly and said : " Mad- 
ame, to be frank with you, I don't think they could." 

" Well, have they ever been frightened ? " 

" No, never. Nothin' could frighten 'em," said Har- 

" Has anything ever happened to them that would 
have frightened them if they had been skittish ?" continu- 
ed my wife earnestly. 

"Well, yes, ma'am; suthin' did happen thuther day 
that would have skeered 'em ef they'd been skittish. 

" What, Harrington— what ? " 

" Why, I was drivin' along down the Woolsey hill, 
when a storm came up, an' six streaks of lightnen' struck 
them horses right on the head and " 

" Did they run ? " 

" No, ma'am ; they didn't move; they jest stood still and 
pawed the ground for more lightnen'. They liked it. 

"An' the next day," continued Harrington, <f a city 
feller was drivin' this team, an' he let a railroad train go 
right through 'em." 

"Did it kill them?" 

" No, but the city feller was all used up. But you 
oughter a seen them horses; they acted so human like^ 
Why, when they picked that city fellow out of the trees 
they walked straight up to him, took him by the seat of 
the pantaloons " 

"Oh, my!" 

" Lifted him right back into the wagon again, and " 

" My gracious me ! " 

" And then they hitched themselves back into the 
wagon and drove themselves home — didn't they Mr. 
Kettelle ? " — JV. T. Commercial Advertiser. 


Punctuation makes a great many bulls in this coun- 
try. The other day I picked up a newspaper in Wis- 
consin, full of curious things. I enclose a few specimens: 

"The procession at Judge Orton's funeral was very 
fine and nearly two miles in length as was the beautiful 
prayer of the Rev. Dr. Swing from Chicago." 


" A cow was struck by lightning on Saturday belong- 
ing to Dr. Hammond who had a beautiful spotted calf 
only four days old." 

A distressing accident is thus chronicled : 

" A sad accident happened to the family of John 
Elderkin on Main street, yesterday. One of his children 
was run over by a market wagon three years old with 
sore eyes and pantalets on that never spoke afterwards. 

The next morning after lecturing at Janesville, I saw 
this paragraph: 

" George Peck an intemperate editor from Milwaukee 
fell over the gallery last night while Eli Perkins was 
lecturing in a beastly state of intoxication." 

" The coroner's jury brought in a verdict that Mr. 
Peck came to his death by remaining too long in a 
cramped position while listening to Mr. Perkins' lecture 
which produced apoplexy on the minds of the jury. 


Richmond, writes Eli Perkins, in the N. T. Star, 
consists of 500 good houses, 17,000 negro huts, and 400 
tobacco factories. A Richmond man showed me the 
town. I didn't get tired of looking at the 500 good 
houses, but the 400 tobacco factories wore me all out. At 
last, when I came to a large building, I would say : 

"Another tobacco factory, sir." 

" Yes, this is a plug factory." 

" Never mind," I said, " drive on; let the plug go." 

Further on we came to a very large building, and a 
very ancient one. 

" Is that a tobacco factory, too," I asked a darkey. 

" No, sah: dat's a meetin' hous', sah; dat's whar Pat- 
rick Henry delivered his great speech." 

" When," I asked, " when did Patrick speak ? 

" Years and years ago, sah.' 

" What did he say ? 

" Why, he's de man what said ' Give me liberty or give 
me death.' " 

« Well, which did he get ? " 

" He got 'em bof, sah." 



Last evening, writes Eli Perkins, as Mr. Stub was 
playing his sweet music in the States ball room, an old 
maid from Boston was promenading out on the flirting 
balcony with Mr. Jack Astor, one of our swell young 
gentlemen from New York. 

As the landers stopped, Miss Warren looked languidly 
over into the park, sighed four times, and then pathetic- 
ally remarked: 

"Nobody loves me, my dear Mr. Astor; nobody " 

"Yes, Miss Warren, God loves you, and your 

mother loves you." 

" Mr. Astor, let's go in ? " 

And five minutes afterwards, Miss Warren was try- 
ing the drawing-out dodge on another innocent, unsus- 
pecting fellow. 


" Eli." 

" Yes, Uncle." 

" Let me read you suthin' from the Christian Union? 
and my Uncle Consider wiped his German-silver glasses 
with his red bandana handkerchief, adjusted them on his 
nose, and read : 

A man in Jamaica, Long Island, after drinking too much cider 
insisted, against his wife's wishes, on smoking on a load of hay. He 
came home that night without any whiskers or eyebrows, and the 
iron work of his wagon in a potato sack." 


" This little incident, Eli," said my Uncle, looking 
over his glasses, " preaches a sermon on temperance. 
It teaches us all, in these times of public corruption, 
tempered by private assassinations, to keep our heads 
'spiritoally level.' " 

"How can this be done, Uncle?" I asked. 
• " Jes lis'en to me, Eli, and I'll tell you. I'll open 
the flood-gates of wisdom to you, so to speak." Then 
my uncle put one hand on my shoulder, looked me 
straight in the face, and said : 

" Ef you drink wine, Eli, you will walk in winding 
ways; ef you carry too much beer the bier soon will 
carry you. Ef you drink brandy punches you will get 
handy punches; and ef you allers get the best of 
whiskey, Eli, whiskey '11 allers get the best of you." 

" But brandy, Uncle — brandy has saved the lives of 
thousands of people — hasn't it?" I asked. 

" Yes, Eli, brandy has saved thousands of lives, and 
do you want to know how — do you ? By their not 
drinking it, my boy ; that's the way it saved their lives. 
No, my boy, if you want to keep your spirits up you 
mus'n't put your spirits down." 

" Did you ever know brandy and whiskey to do as 
much damage as water has, Uncle ?" I inquired, mod- 

" Yes, my boy, I have. What has brandy done in 
our fam'ly ? Didn't I see your Uncle Nathaniel come 
home from the lodge one night, after he had taken 
too much whiskey in his water, an' didn't he stagger 
into the kitchen, get up on a chair and wash the face 
of the clock, and then deliberately get down and wind 


up the baby and try to set it for'ard fifteen minutes ? 
Didn't he!" 

" But when we read in the Bible, Uncle, how much 
damage water has done — how it drowned Pharaoh, de- 
moralized Jonah, and engulfed the whole human family 
in the deluge, don't it really make you afraid to drink 
any more water in your'n ? Don't it?" I said, raising 
my voice. " I know water don't cause the destruction 
of two-dollar clocks," I continued, " nor wind up inno- 
cent babies, but it wound up Pharaoh's whole army and 
washed down the whole human race and " 

" Shut up, Eli ! Don't talk to me. You make me 
sick," shouted my Uncle, gesticulating wildly with one 
hand and wiping his eyes with the other. But a mo- 
ment afterward he became tranquil, and, looking over 
his German-silver glasses thoughtfully, he continued : 

" No, no, Eli, my boy, that fust glass of wine has 
ruined many a yung man. The other nite," he con- 
tinued, wiping his eyes, " I drempt I saw my fav'rite 
sun adrinken from the floin' bole. My hart yarned for 
'im an' I strode to'rds 'im. As he razed the wine- 
glass in the air I was seezed tragick-like and sez I, 
1 O Rufus, the serpent lurks in that floin' wine. Giv' 
— O giv* it to your father!' and when he past it 
to'rds me I quaffed it, serpent an' all, to keep it from 
my tender sun. He was saved from the tempter, Eli, 
and turnin' with tears in my eyes I remarkt, ' O, my 
hopeful boy, do anything — skoop burds' nests, stun 
French glass winders, match sents, play with powder, 
take snuf, take benzine, take photographs, — anything, 
but don't take that first glass of wine.' 



" ' Fear not, father,' answered my noble boy. ' That 
first glass o' wine be blowed. Us boys is all a-slingin' 
in ol' crow whisky and a-punishin' gin 
slings and brandy smashers — if we 
ain't yeu kan hire a hall for me — yen 

" Mi noble boi ! " and then Uncle 

Consider lighted a 40-cent Partaga and 

proceeded to ask James what he had 

purchased for the week's supply from 

the market. 

" I bought two gallons of sherry, sir, four dozen 

Burgundy, some of the old rum we had before, some 

cheese, two boxes of cigars, and two loaves of bread, 

an' it's all here in the larder." 

"All right, James," said my Uncle, lookin' over his 
glasses, "but was there any need of spendin' so much 
money for bread ? " 

And then Uncle Consider went on cutting off his 


Since they have discovered 
diamonds in Africa, they are 
getting too common on Fifth 
Avenue to be even noticed. 
One young lady, reported to 
be young and handsome, wears 
finger-ring diamonds in her hair. 
A Chicago lady, staying at the 
Fifth Avenue, alleged to have 
lived with her present husband 
two weeks without getting a 
divorce, wears diamond dress- 
buttons; and even one of the 
colored waiters — an African, too, 
right from the mines — showed me a 
diamond in his carpet-bag weighing 
thirty-seven pounds, which he offered 
to sell to me in the rough for $4 — 
a clear indication that even the Africans 
don't appreciate the treasures they have 

This morning a lady from Oil City 
went into Tiffany's great jewelry store and said she 
desired to purchase a diamond. 



" I understand solitaire diamonds are the best, 
Mr. Tiffany," she said, "please show me some of 

" Here is a nice solitaire," answered the silver-haired 
diamond prince. " How do you like it ?" 

" Putty well," said the lady, revolving it in her fin- 
gers. " It shines well, but are you sure it is a solitaire, 
Mr. Tiffany?" 

" Why, of course, madame." 

" Wall now, if you will warrant it to be a real gen- 
uine solitaire, Mr. Tiffany, I don't mind buying it for 
my daughter Julia — and — come to think," she con- 
tinued, as she buttoned her six-button kid-gloves and 
took her parasol to leave, " if you've got five or six 
more real genuine solitaires just like this one, I don't 
mind takin' 'em all so's to make a big solitaire cluster 
for myself." 

" Yes, madame, we'll guarantee it to be a real soli" 
taire" smilingly replied Mr. Tiffany, and then the head 
of the house went up to his private office and in the 
presence of four hundred clerks sat down and wrote 
his official guarantee that the diamond named was a 
genuine solitaire. As the lady bore the certificate from 
the big jewelry palace she observed to herself, " There's 
nothing like knowing you've got the genuine thing. 
It's really so satisfyin' to feel sure !" 

But that evening her fiendish husband refused to 
buy the diamonds — " and then this beautiful woman," 
said Mr. Tiffany — " all dressed up in silks and laces 
and garnet ear-rings cut on a bias, sat down in the 
hotel parlor and had to refuse to go to a party at Mrs. 


Witherington's because her jewels did not match her 
polonaise /" 

"O dear!" said the great jeweller, and in the full- 
ness of his grief he poured a coal scuttle into a case 
full of diamonds and watches and silver spoons, and 
a basketful of diamonds and pearls and garnets into 
the coal stove. 


The other day I sent this paragraph to The Herald : 

" Mrs. Johnson is said to be the most beautiful woman in the 

I didn't know what I was doing. I'm sorry I did 
it. Now the ladies are all down on me, and poor 
Mrs. Johnson is being persecuted on all sides. The 

ladies are telling all sorts of 
stories about her — how she poi- 
soned her first husband, threw 
a baby or two down the well, 
and all that. 

A few moments ago a tall, 
muscular gentleman entered my 
room, holding a long cane in 
his hand. He looked mad. I 
wasn't afraid. O ! no ; but I was 
writing, and hadn't time to talk. 
"Are you Mr. Perkins?" he 

" No, sir; my name is La " 

" Did you write this article 
about Mrs. Johnson being the 
most beautiful woman?" he in- 

"Why?" I asked modestly. 



"Because my wife is here, sir — Mrs. Thompson — a 
very handsome woman, sir, and — " 

" Ah ! Thompson — yes ; only the fact is I sent it 
down 'Thompson,' and those rascally type-setters they 
made ' Johnson ' of it. Why, yesterday, Mr. Thompson, 
I wrote about President Porter, the well-deserving 
President of Yale College, and those remorseless type- 
setters set it up * hell-deserving,' and President Porter 
has been cutting me ever since." 

"All right, then, Mr. Perkins, if you really sent it 
down, 'Mrs. Thompson,' I'll put up my pistol and 
we'll be friends; but if I ever hear of your writing of 
any lady's being more beautiful than my wife I'll send 
you to New York in a metallic case — I will, sure !" 
and Mr. Thompson strode out of the room. 

A few moments afterward I met 
Julia, my fiancee — the one I truly 

"You look lovely to-day, Julia!" 
I commenced as usual. 

"You're a bore, Eli — you're a dread- 
ful person — a false, bad man. You — " 
"What is it, Julia? what has displeased you now?" 
I interrupted, sweetly. 

" Why, you base deceiver ! have n't you been calling 
me beautiful all the time ? Haven't you made sonnets 
to my eyes, compared my cheeks to the lily, my arms 
to alabaster; and now here you go and call Mrs. 
Johnson the most beautiful woman in the hotel. You 
mean, false, two-sided man, you !" and Julia's eyes 
snapped like sparks of electricity. 


" But, Julia, dear Julia, let me explain," I pleaded, 
" It was all ruse, Julia. Don't you know, newspapers 
tell a good many lies — they must, you know ; the 
people will have them; and there is a rivalry between 
them to see which shall tell the biggest and longest 
ones, you know, and tell them the oftenest ?" 

" Yes," she murmured sweetly. 

"Well, I've been telling so much truth lately in 
The Herald, folks told me to change my course a 
little — to throw in a few lies, and — " 

"And you did?" 

"Why, yes, and this was one of them. Of course 
you are the most beautiful woman in Saratoga. Of 
course you are." 

This seemed to make Julia happy again, and I 
thought I was all right. I went back to my room 
thinking so, but I was all wrong. 

In a moment, Rat! tat!! tat!!! sounded on the 

" Come in," I said, as I stood with my pantaloons off, 
thinking it was the boy to take this letter to the post. 
BjBjjjjB^ BJiB " Is it you who is making fun of 
EHJBjSSi^S my wife — you miserable — " 
BjJSBJIWfjl "I beg pardon, sir; if. you and your 
|lj|V I wife will just step back a moment, I'll 
WjBBjjSt draw on my pantaloons and try and 

mBsSmmmSKSB^ tell you," I said, trembling from head 

"IS IT YOU, SIR?" tO fOOt. 

" No, sir, we won't step back a moment, but say. 
sir, did you say my wife, Mrs. Johnson, was the hand- 
somest woman in Saratoga; she who has been known 


"no, sir'" 

as the plainest woman and I the plainest Methodist 
minister in this here circuit — say, did you?" 

The woman was a fright. I could 
see it from behind the sofa where I 
scootched down. She wore a mob' 
cap, had freckles, crooked teeth and 
peaked chin. 

" No, sir!" I said, vehemently. "No, 
sir-r-r ! I never said your wife was 
the most beautiful woman in Saratoga, 
for she evidently is not. I meant some- 
body else — another Mrs. Johnson. I 
could not tell a lie about it, and she is 
positively ugly — that is, she is not hand- 
some; she is not beautiful. 
" Far different," 
"Far different} My wife not 
good-looking, sir? My wife far - ~- 
different? I'll teach you to at- 
tack my wife in that way," and 
then his cane flew up and I 
flew down. I don't know how 
long I staid there, but I do know 
that the next hour I found my- 
self in a strange room, and my 
clothes smelt of chloroform and 
camphor. The doctors say I met with an accident. 1 
don't know what it was, but I do know that I shall 
never say anything about that handsomest woman 
again. Never ! 

i'll teach you.' 

" r 


It pains me to hear of so many people being burned 
out on account of combustible elevators and defective 
flues. It's dreadful how much damage fire is doing of 
late years when it can just as well be managed if only 
taken in hand. 

This morning the superintendent of the New York 
Fire Department came to my room and wanted me to 
explain my theory of preventing fire. 

"All right, Gen. Shaler, be seated," I said. Then I 
showed him the machine invented by Prof. Tyndall and 
myself for abstracting heat from fire. 

"Heat from fire, did you say, Mr. Perkins?" 

"Yes, sir," I said, turning a crank. "This is the way 
we do it. Put your eye on the spout. Now, do you see 
the cold flames coming out there while the boys are 
wheeling off the heat in flour barrels to cook with?" 

"Splendid!" exclaimed Gen. Shaler. "What other 
inventions have you ?" 

"Dozens of them, sir," I said, leading the General 
into my laboratory. 

Then I showed the General my famous machine for 
concentrating water to be used by the engines in case 
of drought. I showed the General my process of con- 
centration, which is to place the water in its dilute 
state in large kettles and then boil it down till it is 


thick. The experiment proved eminently successful. 
Twelve barrels of water were evaporated down to a 
gill, and this was sealed in a small phial, to be diluted 
and used to put out fires in cases of extreme drouth. 

"But, Mr. Perkins, how " 

"Never mind 'how' General," said I. "You see, in 
some cases the water is to be evaporated and concen- 
trated till it becomes a fine, dry powder, and this can 
be carried around in the vest pockets of the firemen, 
and blown upon the fire through tin horns — that is, it 
is to extinguish the fire, in a horn." 

" But, Mr. Perkins, " 

"Never mind your buts, General — just you look at 
the powdered water," I said. 

Then he examined the powdered water with great 
interest, took a horn — a horn of powdered water — in 
his hands and blew out four tallow candles without 
the use of water at all, while I proceeded to elucidate 
my plan for constructing fire-proof flues. I told him 
how the holes of the flues should be constructed of 
solid cast iron or some other non-combustible material, 
and then cold corrugated iron should be poured around 

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the superintendent. " Per- 
fectly wonderful ! But where will you place the flues, 
Mr. Perkins?" 

" My idea," I replied, drawing a diagram on the 
wall-paper with a piece of charcoal, "is to have these 
flues in every instance located in the adjoining house." 

"Magnificent! but how about the elevators?" 

"Why, after putting 'em in the next house too, 


I'd seal 'em up water-tight and fill 'em with Croton, 
and then let 'em freeze. Then I'd turn 'em bottom- 
side up, and if they caught fire, the flames would only 
draw down into the cellar." 


A young lady who attends Vassar College came 
home to her mother on Madison avenue yesterday, 
and said that she didn't like to go to school there 
any more, for — for " 

"For what, Jenny?" asked her mother. 

"Why, because some of the Vassar girls swear, Ma.'* 

"Swear, Jane! Good Lord, what do you mean?" 

" I mean they use bad words, Ma. I " 

" Great Heavens, child ! run and tell your grand- 
mother to come here." 

\_Enter Grandmother^ 

"What is it, Marion?" asked grandmother, looking 
over her glasses. 

"Why, goodness gracious, Mother, what do you think \ 
Why, Jenny says the girls swear, they " 

" Lord o' mercy, Marion ! Heaven knows what we'l) 
come to next. Lord knows we've been too precious 
careful of our children to have 'em ruined by any 
such infernal dev'lishness." 

"I wish to Heaven — but here, Jenny" (matching 
hold of the young lady), "tell me now — what do those 
Vassar girls say?" 

"Why, Lizzie Mason talks about Mad-dam de Stael, 
and Lizzie Smith says when she goes to New York 
she'd rather ride up to see McComb's dam bridge 
than to have a front seat at the For.. dam races." 

"Good Lord, Jenny, how you startled me!" 


(Around town.) 

Let me show you some little every-day New York 
pictures this evening. There are only four of them : 


" Hundreds of little Italian boys are kept by old hags 
on Cherry and Baxter streets, just to steal and beg. 
If they come home at night without having stolen or 
begged certain sums, the poor little fellows -are whipped 
and made to go to bed on the floor without any 
supper. Most of these boys turn out pick-pockets, 
and eventually go to the Island or to Sing Sing as 
burglars and housebreakers. One little fellow who has 
lived on Cherry street for seven years didn't know 
what the Bible was, and he told us he had never 
heard of Christ." — N. Y. Times. 

" the Rev. Mr. Van Meter, who established the second 
Five Points Mission House, has raised funds enough 
to establish a Protestant mission church in Rome. He 
writes that three more Italian subjects have been res- 
cued from Popery and converted to the Protestant 
faith, and that he is deeply solicitous for further con- 


tributions from brothers and sisters in the cause to 
help on the glorious work and enable them to build 
a snug little marble parsonage for the residence of 
the American missionaries." — Five Points Mission Re- 


"Mrs. Mary Thomas testified this morning that Mrs. 
Hurley turned her out of the Girls' Lodging House 
on a stormy night to die in the Fifth Street Station 
House, and Sergeant Snyder swore that on the morn- 
ing of the 1 8th of March he found Mary lying sick 
on the floor in the station house. She was in dis- 
tress, and said : 

" ' For God's sake, have some one do something for 
me!' and in the midst of her crying and mourning 
she gave birth to a child." — N. Y. Herald. 


" the private stables of Mr. Belmont, Bonner, and 
many other gentlemen are made of black walnut, 
beautifully furnished, and nicely warmed. The horses 
are clothed in soft, white blankets, and fed and cleaned 
with the regularity of clockwork. I am endeavoring 
to have all other animals well cared for, too, and to 
accomplish this I caused the arrest of a private coach- 
man to-day, and detained the carriage in front of 
A. T. Stewart's, because the driver had driven tacks in 
the side of the bridle, which pricked and chafed the 
horse, compelling him to keep his head straight. If 
cars are overloaded the horses will be stopped, and the 


people will have to walk." — Mr, Humane (?) Bergh's 


" A woman, who up to the time 
of our going to press had not 
been identified, was found dead 
yesterday morning on a door- 
step in Thirty - fourth street. 
The deceased evidently wandered 
from some of the poorer wards 
in search of employment, and 
from her emaciated condition it 
is probable she had not tasted food for several days. 
It is thought that poverty and starvation caused her 
death. The body, scantily clothed in a few rags, 
lies unclaimed in the Morgue." — N. Y. Sun. 

"Mrs. Livingstone's elegant and 
fashionable reception and german, 
at her palatial Fifth avenue man- 
sion on Monday evening, was too 
gorgeous for description. Many 
of the ladies' toilets came from 
Worth's, and cost fabulous sums, 
and the flowers which draped the 
rooms — all rare exotics — must have 
cost a small fortune. Among the guests sparkling 
with jewels was Mrs. Lawrence, whose bridal trousseau, 
when she was married last week, is said to have cost 


$7,000. The rare and expensive wines which cheered 
the occasion, some of them costing as high as $20 
per bottle, astonished even the co?inoisseurs."—IIome 


" Bellevue Hospital is often crowded to excess with 
sick, so much so that patients suffer through bad air 
and inattention. ***** 

" It is impossible to warm the Tombs, or to keep it 
from being damp, unwholesome, and sickly; and until 
an appropriation of at least $50,000 is made by the 
city, prisoners must continue to be crowded together 
and continue to suffer, especially in cold weather, 
beneath damp bed-clothes." — Report Commissioners of 
Charities and Correction. 

"the Park Commissioner is of opinion that it will 
cost $5,000,000 to complete the new Natural History 
buildings in Central Park, to give ample room for the 
minerals, fossils, and live animals. The wild animals 
of the zoological collection take up a large amount 
of room in the Park buildings, and it costs the city 
a great deal of money to feed them and keep them 
properly warmed, but they are a source of great 
amusement to the nurses and children." — Park Com- 
missioner's Report. 


Miss Livingstone was calling on the Fifth Avenue 
Woffingtons yesterday afternoon. As she stepped out 
of her bottle-green laudaulet to walk up the Woffington 
brown-stone portico, a swarm of sparrows from Union 
Square chirped and twittered over her head and up 
along the eaves. The sparrows were dodging about 
after flies and worms — something substantial — while 
Miss Livingstone's mind never got beyond her lace 
overskirt and the artificials on her Paris hat. 

"It's perfectly drefful, Edward !" she observed to 
the bell-boy as she shook out her skirts in the hall — 
"howible!" Then flopping herself into a blue satin 
chair she exclaimed : " I do hate those noisy spaw'ows, 
Mrs. Woffington. They'r beastly — perfectly atwocious !" 

" But you know they destroy the worms, Miss Liv- 
ingstone ; they kill millions of 'em — just live on 'em. 
Now, wouldn't you rather have the sparrows than the 
worms, Miss Livingstone ? Wouldn't you ?" 

" No, I wouldn't, Mrs. Woffington. Just look at my 
new brown silk — the nasty, noisy things ! I " 

" But worms eat trees and foliage and fruit, Misa 
Livingstone. They destroy " 

" They don't eat silk dresses, Mrs. Woffington, and 
they don't roost on nine dollar ostrich feathers and 


thirty dollar hats, do they? I'm for the worms, I tell 
you, and I don't care who knows it ! I hate spaw'ows!" 

" Well, I hate worms, I do. I hate " 

Just then Miss Livingstone's brother — a swell mem- 
ber of the Knickerbocker club — Eugene Augustus 
Livingstone, entered, interrupting the sentence, when 
both ladies turned on him and exclaimed : 

" Oh, Mr. Livingstone, we were discussing sparrows 
and worms, and we refer the question to you. Now 
answer, which had you rather have — sparrows or 
worms ?" 

" Well, weally I kont say, ladies. Weally, 'pon m' 
honor I kont, yeu kneuw — yeu kneuw. I never 
had " 

" But which do you think you'd rather have, Mr. 
Livingstone ? Which " 

" I weally kont say, ladies, for I never had the 
spawows — at least, not since I can remember ; but the 
worms " 

"Oh, Mr. Livingstone!" and then poor Eugene Au- 
gustus had to open the window and sprinkle ice-water 
all over two fainting Worth dresses, which looked as 
if some careless milliner had let them drop — a woman 
sinker in each holding it to the carpet. 




In Denver, years ago — when 
Denver was made up of a popu- 
lation of robbers and gamblers 
and adventurers — there used to 
be a miners' bank — a bank where 
miners deposited bags of gold 
dust, or sold it for currency. In 
the bank, before the teller's window, there sat, one day, 
a forlorn, dejected, woe-begone looking old miner — a 
seedy old forty-niner. He wore an old faded slouch 
hat, about the color of his tangled, sun-browned beard. 
He never spoke as the other miners came in and ex- 
changed their dust for coin, and no one spoke to him. 
He was a personified funeral — a sad, broken-hearted 
man. As this sad miner sat there, one day, smoking 
his pipe, and seemingly oblivious to anything, a young 
man entered and jauntily handed in his bag of dust. 

" It weighs six hundred and eighty dollars, Mr. John- 
son," said the teller, taking it from the scales. 

"All right; give me credit on the books," said the 
young man, moving towards the door. But, turning 
on his heel in the doorway, he paused a moment, put 
his hand thoughtfully across his brow, and said : 

" I beg your pardon, sir ; but it seems to me you 



made a little mistake in paying me last week, didn't 
you ?" 

" No, sir, we never err, sir ; and if we did, sir, it's 
too late to correct it now. You should have spoken 
about it at the time," replied the teller, coolly. 

"But, sir, I'm positive that you paid me ninety dol- 
lars too much. Suppose you weigh the last week's 
bag again," urged the young man. 

"Oh, if the mistake was that way, perhaps we did," 
replied the teller, putting the bag of gold dust on the 
scales again. " Godness ! I did make a mistake. Just 
ninety dollars and " 

" Here's your money," interrupted the young man, 
throwing down the amount in coin. 

"I'm very much obliged," said the teller; "for the 
mistake would have come out of my wages when we 
came to balance. I cannot thank you too much." 

The only man watching the transaction was the old 
slouch-hatted miner. He arose, fastened his eyes on 
the young man, then came and watched 
him pay the money back. Surprise filled ,<&, 

his countenance. His eyes opened wide, ^^^^ 
and his lips fell apart with astonishment. JRjlf 
Then, looking the honest young man |H^P^. 
straight in the face, he exclaimed: H^hB'! 

"Stranger, don't you feel mighty lone- ^ s ™ lB ^^ l!l 

, ,, "don't you feel 

some round here? lonesome?" 


For the benefit of many young ladies who remain 
away from Saratoga, that beautiful spot where 
" The weary cease from troubling and the wicked are at rest," 

I send the following account of the latest watering 
place fashions: 

" Shoes are worn high in the neck, flounced with 
point aquille lace, cut on the bias. High heels are 
common in Saratoga, especially in the hop room. Cot- 
ton hose, open at the top, are very much worn, some 
of them having as many as three holes in them. Cot- 
ton plows are not seen. 

" Children — Are made very forward this year, but 
they are very often dispensed with entirely for quiet 
toilets. They are too loud. A neat thing in babies 
can be made of drab pongee, gored and puckered to 
match the panier. Little boys ruffled, fluted, and cut 
on the bias to match the underskirt are very much 
worn. Many are worn all down to living skeletons by 
such fashionable ladies as Miss Management, Miss 
Usage, Miss Behavior, Miss Doing, and Miss Guid- 

" Bonnets — Are worn high — none less than $35. 
They are made high in the instep and cut decollete in 
front, trimmed with the devilknowswhat. Low neck 



bonnets with paniers are no longer worn. The fr®nt 
of the bonnet is now invariably worn behind. 

" Lovers — Are once more in the fashion. They are 
worn on the left side for afternoon toilets, and directly 
in front for evening ball-room costume. A nice thing 
in lovers can be made of hair (parted in the middle), 
a sickly moustache, bosom pin, cane and sleeve but- 
tons, dressed in checked cloth. Giant intellects are not 
fashionable in Saratoga this season. The broad, mass- 
ive, thick skull is generally preferred. The old lover 
trimmed with brains, character, and intelligence is no 
longer worn. 

" Dresses — Are not worn long — none over two days. 
They are trimmed with Wooster Street sauce, looped up 
with Westchester County lace, with monogram on 'em. 
Shake well and drink while hot. Inclose twenty-five 
cents for circular. 

" Eli de Perkins, Modist. 

M Hotel *es Etats Unis, Saratoga, August, 1875. 1 ' 


Miss Miller said 
her friend, Mrs. 
Thompson, was 
wrapped up in a 
beautiful camel's 
hair shawl which 
she said she paid 
$2,000 f o r at 

"That's noth- 
ing at all," said 
my Uncle Con- 
sider. " I know 
a lady up in 

Litchfield who is wrapped up in a beautiful home-made 

baby that she won't take $200,000 for!" 

Uncle Consider is crazy on home-made things. 



Little Nellie, whom we all see every day dancing 
around the parlors, won her mother's permission to 
sit up in the ball-room every night for a week, by prov- 
ing that she had four fathers. 

How did she do it? This was the way: 



" Now> ma, I have one more father than no little 
girl, haven't I? 

"Yes, pet." 

" Well, no little girl has three fathers ; and if I have 
one more father than no little girl, then I must have 
four fathers." 

Alas ! we've all got forefathers, but little Nellie went 
a step farther than us all in her logic. 


Another little girl toddled 
up to a venerable " mother in 
Israel " yesterday who was lean- 
ing over engaged in reading, 
and, smoothing her little hand 
cautiously over the old lady's 
beautiful silver hair, she said: 

"Why, ou has dot such fun- 
ny hair — ou has." Then, paus- 
ing a moment, she looked up 
and inquired, " What made it 
so white?" 

" Oh, the frosts of many win- 
ters turned it white, my little 
girl," replied the old lady. 

" Didn't it hurt ou ?" asked the little thing, in child- 
ish amazement. It was the first time .she had ever- 
seen gray hair. 


One day I took a crowd of children in Saratoga 




down to see Ben the educated pig. Among them was 
little Johnny Wall, who has always been troubled be- 
cause he had no little sister to 
play with. When he asked his 
mother to get him a little sister, 
she always put him off with : 

" Yes, Johnny, when children 
get cheap I'll buy you a little 
sister. You must wait." 

So to-day when Mr. Jarvis 
•oh, untle eli!" read these letters on Educated 

Ben's tent — 

Children half price — 15 cents. 

little Johnny jumped straight up and down, clapped 
his hands, and exclaimed : 

" Oh, Untie Eli ! now mamma can buy a itty sister 
for me, for itty children ain't only half price now — 
only 15 cents." 


When Johnny came back, his mother showed him a 
picture of a jackass with long ears in a picture-book, 
when this colloquy occurred : 

" Does ou see itty dackass, mamma, stan'in' all loney 
in ze picsur?" asked the little three-year old. 

"Yes, dear." 

" Oh, mamma, Nursey been tellin' Donney all about 


ittty dackass. He ha-n't any mamma to make him 

dood, an' no kind nursey 't all. Poor 

itty dackass hasn't dot no Bidzet to 

dess him c'ean an' nice, an' he hasn't 

any overtoat yike Donney's 'tall. Oo 

solly, mamma?" 

" Yes, dear, I am very sorry. Poor 
itty dackass ! Dot nobody 't all to 
turl his hair pritty, has he, Donney? 
an' he hasn't dot no soos or tockies 
on his foots. Dot to yun an' tick all 
day in 'e dirt. Tan't ever be put to seepy in his itty 
beddy 't all, 'an—" 

"O mamma!" interrupted Johnny. 

"What, baby?" 

" I wiss I was a itty dackass." 


L - 




A lady writes that she has great 
trouble with her servant girls. She 
says she has only herself, husband, and 
little girl, but that it takes just as many 
servants to keep house as if she had a 
dozen in the family — that is, she must 
keep a cook, nurse> chambermaid, and 
a -girl to dust around and attend the door-bell. "Now, 
Mr. Perkins," she asks, " how can I get two good, old- 
fashioned girls, who will work together and run my 
little house?" 

I don't know, my good lady, unless you advertise. 
Suppose you put this advertisement in the Herald to- 
morrow, and see the result: 


A woman in respectable circumstances, living on Lexington av- 
enue, and who can give good references from the last lady who 
worked for her, wishes a situation as mistress over two young 
ladies. The advertiser has a husband and one child, but if the 
child is an objection, it will be sent out to board. The ladies 
who consent to enter into the alliance will have full management 
of the house. They will be allowed to employ an inferior person 
to assist them in doing their own washing and ironing, provided 
they will allow the advertiser to put in a few small pieces, such 
as collars, cuffs, and baby clothes. The advertiser will assist in 
the heavy work, such as wiping down the stairs, building fires, and 
such other labor as may be considered unbecoming in a lady. A 


gentleman of color will be in attendance to wash door-steps, scrub 
stairs, clean knives and dishes, carry water and run on errands. 
The young ladies will have Sundays and Saturday afternoons to 
themselves, and can use the back parlor for evening company during 
the week, provided the advertiser can use it in the morning. In 
case the young ladies desire to give a party, the advertiser, after 
giving up the keys of the wine-cellar and larder, will spend the 
night at the hotel. If the young ladies have relatives, they can 
supply them with flour, chickens, and vegetables from the common 
larder. Presents will be exchanged on Christmas, and the young 
ladies can have a set of jewelry or a point lace underskirt on Easter 

Candidates will please send address to No. — Lexington avenue, 
when the advertiser will call on them with her recommendations 
and certificates of good character. 





Last night I made a fashionable call 
on a fashionable young lady — not one of 
your intellectual young ladies, who takes 
pride in brains and literature and travel 
and music, but one of our real " swell " 
girls, who dotes on good clothes and dia- 
monds and laces, and who bathes daily in a 
bath tub of Caswell and Hazard's cologne; 
who keeps a Spanish poodle, dyes her 
hair yellow, wears a four-inch Elizabethan 
ruffle, and has her face powdered with 
real pearl powder, specked with black court-plaster. 

My dear Julia sat under the mild light of an opal 
shade, fanned herself with a twenty-inch Japanese fan, 
and discoursed — oh, so sweetly ! By her side sat Eugene 
Augustus Livingstone, of the Jockey Club. She told 
me everything — how the Browns had sailed for Paris ; 
how the lace on Mrs. Fuller's dress cost $3,000; how 
Mrs. Jones had a new Brewster landaulet ; how Miss 
Fielding was flirting with Mr. Munson ; how all the 

girls were going up to Thomas's concerts, and " 

"Is Thomas going to give the Ninth Symphony?" I 

"Oh, yea; he's going to give them all — the ninth 
and tenth; and won't &ey be jolly?" 


"Is he going to give the Symphony in D minor?" 

"Oh, nao ! not in Deminer, Mr. Perkins, but in Cen- 
tral Park Garden; too lovely, ain't it?" 

"I understand," I said, "that they are going to have 
the 'Dead March in Saul.' " 

"Why, I didn't know that the dead ever marched 
anywhere, Mr. Perkins ! How can they ? Well, I don't 
care how much the dead march in Saul if they don't 
get up and march around in Central Park Garden. 
I " 

" How did you like the Church Musicals, Mr. Liv- 
ingstone ?" I asked. 

" O, they're beastly — perfectly beastly — haw- 
a-ble. They make one so confounded sleepy 
that yeou kon't keep awake, yeou kneuw — 
Augustus, dre'ful bore — dre'ful!" 

"What book are you reading now, Miss 
Julia?" I asked, delighted to be able to converse with 
a literary young lady. 

" O, I'm running over one of Dumas's — awful bores 
though, ain't they? Dre'ful stupid!" 

" Shall you read Never Again, Miss Julia ?" 

" Never again ? I should hope so — a good many 
times again. How sarcastic you are — perfectly atro- 
cious !" 

"Do you read Once a Week?" 

" Once a week ! Why, I hope I do, Mr. Perkins. I 
hope " 

"Perhaps you read Every Saturday, Miss Julia?'* 

" No, I read Sundays — read novels and society papers 
— all about balls and parties — ain't they nice?" 

" But, speaking of intellectual feasts, Miss Julia, how 
do you like the genial Lamb ?" 

" O, lamb — the tender lamb — lamb and green peas ! 
They're too lovely; and sweetbread and asparagus 
and " 

"And the philosophical Bacon, on which the hungry 
souls of England have fed for almost a century?" 

"Yes, that lovely English bacon! don't mention it, 
Mr. Perkins ! A rasher of that English bacon, with 
English breakfast tea, and " 

And so Julia rattled on. I was delighted. I wanted 
to stay and talk with Augustus and Julia forever. I 
loved to sit at the feet of wisdom and discourse upon 
the deep philosophy of hair dyes and pearl powder, 
and to roam with Julia through classic shades of pan- 
nierdom, and belt and buckledom. 

Eugene Augustus now invited Julia to treat us with 
music — " some lovely gem culled from — from what the 
Dickens is the opera by — by the fairy-fingered what's- 
his-name, you know." 

"Do, Miss Julia, do sing us that divine song about 
the moon — do!" pleaded Augustus. 

Then Julia flirted up her panniers behind, coquettishly 
wiggle-waggled to a Chickering Grand, and sang: 

When ther moo-hoon is mi-hild-ly be-heam-ing 

O'er ther ca-halm and si-hi-lent se-e-e-a, 
Its ra-dyunce so so-hoft-ly stree-heam-ing, 
Oh ther-hen, ok ther-hen 
I thee-hink 
Hof thee-hee 
I thee-hink 
I thee-hink 
I thee-he-he-hehehehe-hink hof theeeeeeee ! ! 


"Beautiful, Miss Julia! Beautiful! !" and we all clap- 
ped our hands. 

"Do please sing another verse — it's perfectly divine, 
Miss Julia," said Eugene Augustus. 

Then Julia raised her golden (dyed) head, touched 
the white ivory with her jeweled fingers, and warbled: 

When the sur-hun is brigh-hi-hight-ly glowing 

O'er the se-hene so dear-hear to meee, 
And swee-heet the wee-hind is blo-ho-hoing, 
Oh ther-hen, oh ther-hen 
I thee-hink 
Hof thee-hee, 
I thee-hink 
I thee-hink 
I thee-he-he-hehehehehehe-hink hohohohohohoho 
hoho h-o-f theeeeeeeeeeeeee !!!'!! 

"Beautiful! Just too lovely!!" 

As Julia finished the last "theeeeeeee" 
her father, who grew up from an office 
boy to be a great dry goods merchant, 
entered. He'd been out to an auction, 
buying some genuine copies of works of 
art by the old masters. "them raffells !" 

" I tell ye'r what, says he, " them Raf- 
fells is good, an' Mikel Angelo he could paint too — 
he " 

"Did you buy an Achenbach, Mr. Thompson ?" asked 

" ' Buy an akin' back ?' I guess not. I don't want 
no akin' backs, nor rheumatism, nor " 

"And was there a Verboeckoven ?" I inquired. 

"No, sir; there wa'n't no Verboecks hove in — they 


ain't a hovin' in Verboecks now. Money is tight an' 
paintin's is riz." 

" Ah, did you buy any Church's or Worms?" 

" Buy churches and worms ! What the devil do I 
want to buy churches and worms for? I'm buyin' 
works of art, sir. I'm buying " 

" Ah ! perhaps you bought some Coles, and may be 
an English Whistler?" 

" Me buy coals and an English whistler ! No, sir ; 
I'm not a coal dealer. I'm a dry goods man — A. B. 
Thompson & Co., dry goods, sir, and I can do my own 
whistling, and 

And so Mr. Thompson went on ! 

But alas! how could I, a poor author, commune 
farther with this learned encyclopedia of beautiful calico 
and grand old cheese, and pure and immaculate salera- 
tus, and sharp and pointed needles ? — I, who cannot 
dance the German or buy a " spiked " team ! 

Alas ! I sigh as the tears roll down my furrowed 
cheeks, what profit is it to know the old masters^-to 
commune with Phidias — to chant the grand old hex- 
ameter of the Iliad, when you cannot buy and own 
them? I am a poor, ruined man. I cannot buy — I 
cannot build — I cannot decorate ! I can only sit and 
weep in sackcloth and ashes, at the shrine of the 
beautiful and the true. Eli Doloroso. 


Aunt Charity's letter from the Perkins' Farm in 

Litchfield county ! 

I give it just as written, for I love my maiden aunt, 
who stays on the old farm, runs the Episcopal church, 
boards all the school-marms, and keeps splendid pre- 
serves and sweetmeats for all her nephews when they 
visit the old homestead. E. P. 

Perkins' Farm, Litchfield Co., Ct., May 25. 
Eli Perkins : 

My dear Nevy — Yours received. While your Uncle 
Consider was in Afriky your maden Aunt Ruth and I 

thot wed get up an expedishun 
to New York to do sum Spring 

We spent 4 weeks at the 5 th 

We are glad to get back to 
Litchfield County whare there 
is not so much commerce an 
good clothes, but whare intc- 
leck is highly prized, and whare 
virtue and piety shines on the 

forehead of society — so to speak. We are glad to get 




back whare it don't take ioo yards to make a dress, 
whare fair women don't paint their faces, and whare 
dark women don't ware golden hair. 

While many are ambishus to worship at the shrine 
of the godess of Fashion, I am willin' to stay away 
from the old girl forever. I don't want to ware white 
lips in the mornin' and cherry-colored lips in the after- 
noon. I don't think it is right to ware strate dresses 
with no busts in the mornin' and stun the innocent 
men with full busts like the Venus Medechy in the 
evenin'. I don't think it is Christian for young fellers to 
hold your hands, and put their arms around your waste, 
and hug you tite in the evenin' round dances, when it is 
konsidered hily onproper for a young lady even to smile 
at a feller out of a third-story winder in the mornin'. 

No ! no ! ! Eli, such fashuns is not founded onto 
the gospel. Search the good book thru an' you can't 
find a passage which justifies heels over two inches hi'. 
Examine the pen-ta-took from Generations to Revolu- 
tions an' you won't find enny excuse for young ladies 
bucklin' on automatic umbrellas in place of swords, 
or wearin' $60 bonnets made out of two straws, a daisy, 
an' a suspender buckle. 

You ask me how we succeeded in buyin' things. 

We can't say much for New York as a tradin' port. 
New London is far cheaper. 

First we went to Messur De Go-Bare's, the man 
dressmaker, for we wanted to sho' our Litchfield nabers 
the highflyingist stiles of the Empire City. 

" Vot veel I show ze madame ?" asked M. Go-Bare, 
a-smilin' sweetly. 


u Dresses," sez I, in a firm tone — " I want you to 
make me four dresses." 

" Dresses for ze morning or for ze evening, ma- 
dame ?" 

"Why, good dresses, sir — dresses for all day — dresses 

to wear from six o'clock in the morn in' till nine at 

night," I replied with a patrishun air. 

. " Ough ! zen ze madame will have ze polonaise, ze 

watteau wiz ze grande panier, and ze sleef a la Marie 

Antoinette and " 

" Yes, everything," sez I, carelessly ; " and now, my 
good man, how many yards will it take?" 

" We, madame, it will take for ze grande dress 176 
(what you dam call him?) yards. Oh! I veel make 

ze madame one habit magnifique, one " 

"What, 176 yards for one dress!" I exclaimed, 
holdin' my breath. 

"We we," explained the man-tailor, rubbing his 
hands. "Zat is wiz ze polonaise, ze 
watteau, ze panier, ze flounce, cut in 

ze Vandykes " 

Good heavens, man ! must I have 
all these things ? — and what will they 
all cost?" I exclaimed, tryin' to con- 
ceal my emoshun. 

" Ough ! a veere little, Madame — 
only seventeen-fifty wiz all ze rare 
lace on ze flounces, and " 


"Gracious, Charity, that is cheap," 
sez Ant Ruth, takin' off her glasses and a-lookin' at 
the patterns, " Seventeen-f-i-f-t-y J Why, Charity, 


I shud a thot that $65 was a small figer for all these 

"Can't you put on somethin' more, my good man?" 
sez I. " The Perkinses is able, and we are willin' to 
go to thirty or forty." 

"Yees, madame, I can put ze Jabot of ve-ree fine 
lace in ze neck — un, trois, dix plaits." 

"All right; what else?" sez I, whirlin' my pocket- 
book carelessly. 

"We can catch up ze skirt and ze flounces with 
bows " 

" S — sh ! man, do you think I'll have beaux catchin' 
up my flounces? Shame! insultin, base man!" I ex- 
claimed, as I felt the skarlet tinge of madenhood play 
upon my alabaster cheek. 

" No, sir, we want no beaux catchin' up our flounces," 
sez Ant Ruth ; " we " 

" Pardon, madame ; I mean ze bows will hold up ze 
flounces, ze bows " 

" No, tha won't, insultin' Frenchman ! Do you know 
you address a Perkins?" and Ant Ruth and I turned 
a witherin' look at the monster and walked, blushin', 
to the door. 

"Nine — nine!" exclaimed a young German woman 
from Europe, wildly ketchin' hold of our clothes. 
" You nix fustand putty goot Mister Go-Bare. He no 
means vot you dinks. You coomes pack again and 
de shintlemans explains vot you no understand. 
Coome !" 

We re-entered the abode of fashun again. 

" What else can you put on to add to the expense 


of this dress ?" scz I, in a soothing tone. " Seventeen- 
fifty is too cheap for me. I'm willing to go to twenty- 

" Oh, we, madame, ze round point on ze flounces — 
He comes very high — zat will make ze dress twent- 

"Nothing else? But do stop talkin' about high 
bounces !" sez aunt Ruth, the color returning to her 
^b.eeks again. 

* 4 We, Madame. You can have ze side plaits, ze 
kelting, ze gores, ze grande court train, ze petite gos- 
set on ze elbow, ze bias seam up ze back, and — " 

*• Heavens, man, have mercy on us ! Still more you 
say?" exclaimed Aunt Ruth. 

" We, veree much more. You can have ze rar-ee 
flowers a la Nilsson, an' ze point aguille vill make ze 
dress of one grande high price — grande enough for ze 
Grande Duchesse." 

"Wall, how high will the price be then, my good 
man?" sez Aunt Ruth. 

" VingUsix— tweenty-sex, madame. Ce n'est pas trh 
cher, madame?" 

" O ! no, my good man, twenty-six is cheap enough. 
It beats New London tradin' to death. Now give us 
the change," sez Aunt Ruth, handin' him a $50 bill 
on the New London First National. 

" Mon dieu, madame I Zis is not change enuff. Zis 
is nothing. Zis grande dress cost ten — fifty times 

"Gracious! man, didn't you say twenty-six?" in- 
quired Aunt Ruth. 


"Oh, we — we — we — madame, but he cost twenty-six 
hundred- -$2600 !" 

***** * *** 

Eli, I've got thru tradin' in New York. Why, our 
whole crop of hay, corn, and maple sugar wudent bi 
over two such dresses. Don't talk to me any more 
about sity fashuns ! Litchfield County will do for me, 
and my old bombazine, with a new polonaise, will do 
for our church for many years to come. It's good 

Yours affeckshunate, 

Charity Perkins. 


The Boston young lady has arrived 
in New York. I mean the real literary 
young lady — the Siege of Troy girl. 
She grew up in Boston and graduated v Ife 
at Vassar College last year. She weais 
eye glasses, and is full of wisdom. 
She scans Homer, rattles the verb 


"lipo" like the multiplication tables, 
sings Anacreon to the old Greek melodies, and puts up 
her hair after the Venus of Milo. There is no end to 
her knowledge of the classical dictionary, and when it 
comes to Charles Lamb cr Sidney Smith — who never 
wrote much, but got the credit of every good joke in 
England — she can say their jokes as a Catholic says 
his beads. If you ask her how she likes babies, she 
answers : 

"'How?' Well, as Charles Lamb remarked, 'I like 
'em b—b— boiled."' 

Ask her anything, and she will always lug in a 
quotation from some pedantic old fool like Dr. John- 
son or Swift or Jack Bunsby, just to show you that 
she is up in literature, and that you are — green. 
Not a single original idea, but one constant " as 
Socrates said," or " as Pluto remarked," or "as Diog- 
enes observed." 

Yesterday one of our absurd and ignorant New 


language : 

" Do you love music, Miss Julia ?" asked Jack Astor. 

" Well, ' yes,' as the poet observed." 

" How many times have you been engaged since Christmas ? 1 ' 

"'Six,' as Mr. Daball pathetically remarked in his arithmetic." 

"Do you dance the round dances?" continued Mr. Astor. 

" ' No,' " said Julia, and then she remarked, " as the Lord Mayor 

of London quietly observed as John Ruskin asked him for the loan 

of four dollars." 

The Boston girl is so well posted that she wins 
triumphs over you by a sort of literary " bluff " game. 
She attributes sharp quotations to distinguished men, 
and, conscious that you dare not question their au- 
thenticity, of course she "bluffs" you right down. 
When you go to your home and read up, and find 
she has really " bluffed " you, of course you are too 
genteel to mention it, and so this Boston girl goes on 
pluming herself at the expense of New York gallantry. 

Yesterday the Boston girl was at it again. Some- 
body asked her who was the oldest, Methuselah or 
Deuteronomy ? 

"Why, Barnes, the commentator, says ' Deuteronomy 
came before Numbers ' — and of course he's too old 
to be computed." 

Now, I knew she lied, but still I had a doubt 
about it. I didn't want to break out and say Deu- 
teronomy came after Numbers, and then have those 
miserable Boston fellows say, with that terrible up- 
ward inflection, "How are you, Eli Perkins?" O! 
no. But when I got home I sent over to a gen- 
tleman on Fifth Avenue, who I understood had a 


Bible to lend, and got the Pentateuch — and, sure 
enough, just my luck, that miserable, pedantic, specta- 
cled Boston girl was right. The fact is, they are always 
right, and that is what produces so much profanity in 
New York. Then how they can show off their Bibli- 
cal knowledge and bug-and-spiderology ! 

The other night Miss Boston took off her eye-glasses 
and asked me three square catechism questions which 
displayed a Biblical knowledge that made my head 

"Who is the shortest man mentioned in the Bible, 
Mr. Perkins?" she commenced. 

"The shortest man?" said I. "Why, I know. It 
was Nehemiah or Mr. What's-his-name, the Shuhite. It 
was " 

" No, sir, it was Peter," interrupted the Boston girl. 
" He carried neither gold nor silver in his purse. 

"Who was the straightest man?" 

"Was it Joseph," I asked, "when he didn't fool 
with Mrs. Potiphar ?" 

"No, it was Joseph, afterwards, when they made a 
ruler of him. 

" But, now, tell me, Eli, what man in the Bible felt 
the worst?" 

"Was it Job, Miss Boston?" 

"No, sir; it was Jonah. He was down in the 
mouth for days." „ 

It was this same Boston girl who years ago said 
Cain never could sit down on a chair," and when 
they asked her "Why?" she said: "Why, because he 
wasn't Abel." 

Then one of our wicked New York fellows got 
mad, and asked Miss Adams, "Why is it impossible 
to stop the Connecticut River?" 

"Is it owing to the extreme heat and density of 
the atmosphere?" asked Miss Adams. 

" No, but because — why, b-e-c-a-u-s-e — dam it you 
can't ! 

" And speaking of rivers, Miss Adams, do you know 
why there will never be any chance for the wicked 
to skate in the next world?" 

"Because the water will be too warm and thin?" 

" No ; but because how in H — H— Harlem can 

If you sit down by this Boston girl and don't 
behave like a minister, she don't get mad and pout. 
O ! no. She says, " Mr. Perkins, shall I repeat you a 
few lines from Saxe ?" and then she goes on — 

Why can't you be sensible, Eli ! 

I don't like men's arms on my chair. 
Be still ! if you don't stop this nonsense, 

I'll get up and leave you— so there ! 

And when you take out a solitaire ring, or try " to 
seal the vow," or something of that sort, as New 
York fellows always try to do with almost every 
Boston girl who comes here, she looks up blushingly, 
and, in the lauguage of Swinburne, poetically remarks : 

There ! somebody's coming — don't look so — 

Get up on your own chair again — 
Can't you seem as if nothing had happened ? 

I ne'er saw such geese as you men ! 



This morning Uncle 
Consider returned from 
the temperance crusade in 
the West. 

"What have you been 

doing, Uncle?" I asked as 

the old man sat polishing 

his German silver glasses 

with his red bandana handkerchief. 

" I've been crusadin' with the 

temp 'ranee wimmen, Eli — been 'stab- 

llishing temp 'ranee bar-rooms for 

religious people, and — " 

"Where — a — bouts, Uncle?" I 

"Why, over in Springfield, where 

Abe Linkum's monument is. Thar 

these wimmen war a processin' 

around in a great crowd. As they 

kum by the depo' I askc~ one of tL.2 pretty gals whar 

the soin' society waz. 'Whear you all crusadin' to?' 

sez I. 

" ' Crusadin' to !' sez she, ' Why, w^ ain't a crusadin 
tfivwhere ; we are a visitin' saloons — licker-saloons. 

" i'm jes ready to 

cruise around with 

pretty, gallus- 

lookin' GIRLS." 


We are organized to put down whiskey. Won't you 
jine in, old man ?' 

" I told 'er I wud. Sez I, ' Young woman, that's me 
zackly. I'm jes reddy to cruise 'round with pretty, 
gallus-lookin' gals any time, and, as fur visitin' saloons, 
I'm jes t'ome thar, too I've visited a dog-on many 
saloons in my day, and, when it comes to puttin' down 
whiskey, young woman,' sez I, ' i s'pose I kin put down 
more whiskey, an' hard cider, an' Jamaky rum 
than ' 

" ' No, no, old man ! we want you to pray in the 
saloons — pray for the rumsellers and ' 

" ' All right,' sez I, * that's me agin. I've preyed 
'round all the rumsellers and into all the saloons in 
New York, from Harry Hill's to Jerry Thomas's, for 
years, and it's jes nothin' but boy's play to prey 'round 
these little country saloons.' 

"'But who's to furnish the money, young woman?' 
sez I. 

"Money, old man? Why, this is a labor of love,' 
sez she, a col'ring up — 'a priceless priv'lege — "without 
money and without price," an' ' 

" ' All right,' sez I. ' I'm j >s suited now. Preyin' 
'round saloons and puttin' down whiskey " without 
money n, ~i without price" jes suits me. Z-a-c-k-1-y 
so ! Put me down a life-member.' 

"'And you say it's all free and don't cost a cent, 
young woman ?" sez I, hesitatin' like. 

" ' No, sir, old man. Virtue is its only reward. Go 
and crusade, and humanity will thank you for doin' it 
— posterity will heap benedictions upon you — the great 


reformers for centuries to come will rize up and call 
you blessed and ' 

" ' Nuf sed, young woman,' sez I, and then I jes 
handed my perlice to the stage-man and jined in. I 
preyed 'round 96 rumsellers and into 180 saloons — 
puttin' down whiskey and beer and rum an' merlasses 
in ev'ry one, till I lost all 'count of myself or anybody 
else until the station-house keeper told me about it 
the next mornin'. 

"An' now, Eli," said Uncle Consider, looking over 
his glasses very mournfully, " if them thar crusadin' 
wimmen kum 'round you to get you to help them prey 
'round saloons and 'stablish temp 'ranee bar-rooms, you 
jes don't go. Now, you mind me. Don't you go 
'round singin' 

" * On Jordan's stormy bank I stand,' 

but you jes stay at home and sing ' I want to be an 
angel,' with Ginral Butler an' Zack Chanler an' me." 



{In Four Chapters) 


" Eli !" 

" Yes, Julia," I said 
as I helped my sweet- 
heart dress the room 
for her Christmas par- 

"Well, Eli, I was 
going to say that I 
could live in a garret 
with the man I loved 
if " 

"If what, Julia?" I said, handing 
her up another sprig of cedar. 

" Why, if it had a nice Otis elevator and 
I could have my meals sent in from Del- 
monico's and 


"Julia!" I said, interrupting her two weeks 
after the conversation narrated in the previous 
chapter, " I have something confidential to tell 

"What is it, Eli?" she asked in a low sil- 



very voice — a kind of German-silvery voice — throwing 
her beautiful eyes upon me. 

"Well, Julia," I sighed, "I think— I think, dearest, 
that I love you. Now do you love me? Do you?" 

"Yes, Eli, I do love you — you know I do," and then 
she got down off the chair and flung her alabaster 
arms around my neck. 

" I'm very glad, Julia," I said, " for I 1-i-k-e to be 

"Well, Eli!" 

But I never said another word. 

Time passed on. 

Six weeks afterwards my beloved grasped my hand 
convulsively, looked in my face and said : 

" Eli, such devoted, warm-hearted men as you often 
make me feel very happy." 

" How, darling ?" I asked, too happy to live. 

"Why, by keeping away from me, Eli!" 


"Why, O why is this, my beloved?" I sobbed, one 
bright spring morning five years afterwards. 

" Because, my darling, — father and mother told me 
that when you called they wanted me to propose " 

" O Julia, darling, I am thine. Take, O take, your 
Eli ! Never mind father — never " 

" But no, Eli, they wanted me to see you and pro- 
pose — p-r-o-p-o-s-e that you don't come here any more !" 

Base flirt— I left her— O I left her!! 





The Brown's Boy is pecu- 
liar to New York, though 
every large city is infested 
with Brown's Boys in a great- 
er or less degree. They were 
named after Sexton Brown of 
Grace Church. They are his 
boys. He keeps them — this 
dilettante Grace Church sex- 
ton does — to run swell parties 
with. He furnishes them with 
invitations to weddings and 
parties and receptions. In fact, Brown contracts to 
furnish Brown's Boys to dance and flirt, and amuse 
young ladies at parties, just as he contracts to furnish 
flowers and ushers and pall-bearers at a funeral. How 
can Mrs. Witherington's party go off well without a 
Brown's Boy to lead the German? They don't have 
anything in particular to do, Brown's Boys don't, and 
it takes them all the time to do it. They don't have 
much money, but they make believe they have immense 
incomes. They are looking out for rich wives. They 
live in cheap rooms, on side-streets, and swell in Fifth 
Avenue parlors. Ask them what they do for a living, 
and they will say, — . 


"O, aw — I opewate a little in stawks now and then 
on Wall street, yeu know." 

If you go down to Wall street you will never see or 
hear of them. 

In New York they live on the Egyptian plan — that 
is, they rent a hall bedroom and eat when they are 
invited; but in Saratoga they swell around in amber 
kids and white neckties, and spend their time in 
dancing the German and in noble endeavors to win 
the affections of some rich young lady. Their whole 
theory of a noble life is to marry a rich girl and board 
with her mother — and not be bored by her mother. 

These Brown's Boys are always very religious — from 
12 to i on Sundays. At that hour you will see them 
always religiously — returning from church. You will 
always see them just coming from or going to church ; 
but I have consulted the " oldest inhabitant, " who 
says that up to this time, they have never been visible 
to the naked eye while engaged in an active state of 

Brown's Boys are good managers. They all have 
nice dress suits, and wear immaculate kids. They 
dance all the round dances, and, at supper, "corner" 
enough champagne behind ladies' dresses to last all 
the evening — even after the champagne is all out, and 
other people are reduced to lemonade and punch. 
They never take any one to a party. They come late 
and alone, but they go for the prettiest girl immedi- 
ately on their arrival, and run her regular escort out. 
They don't call that "cheek" — they call it society 

The theater and opera are the favorite resort of 
Brown's Boys. They go alone, in swell Ulster over- 
coats, crush Dunlop hats, and elaborate opera glasses. 
Here they stand around the doors and aisles, and 
during the acts visit rich young ladies in their twenty- 
six-dollar boxes. 

brown's boys at parties. 

Brown's Boys are the dancing men at fashionable 
parties. They do not talk — they have no ideas — but 
they do dance the German divinely. 

They generally accompany some member of the 
hereditary train of uncertain-aged dancing young ladies, 
who attend five parties a week, from December to Lent. 

These dancing girls are generally prettily and often 
richly dressed, and are the daughters of rich parents, 
while the dancing fellows are generally poor. They 
are pensioners on the young ladies, for, when the young 
ladies forget to send a carriage for them, they invari- 
ably excuse themselves on the ground of a previous 
engagement, or smuggle themselves in alone. Still, they 
are good-looking, generally contrive to wear nice-fitting 
dress suits, faultless kids, and crush hats. They de- 
pend upon "the governor," generally, for cigars. They 
look upon the party as a place to flatter the girls, get 
a free lunch, smoke good cigars, and "corner" cham- 

A Brown's Boy's strong point, as with Achilles, lies 
iu his heels, Though, without any apparent brain, they 


chatter cleverly and seem exceedingly smart in com- 
monplaces. They know, from force of habit, just what 
to say, and just what to do. If they step on a lady's 
dress, they say instantly, 

"Beg pardon, Miss Smith. I thought the train had 
passed ! " 

"Ha! ha! Charley, you must learn to wait for the 
train," Miss Smith remarks as Charley peeps over the 
banisters to smell the incipient breath of — supper. 

brown's boys at supper. 

The dancing men — the professional champagne " cor- 
nerers " — are never late to supper. Here their discrim- 
inating genius makes a prodigious display. 

They never go for cheap refreshments, but have a 
weakness for fried oysters, salads, and expensive wood- 
cock. They take to expensive game wonderfully, and 
they manage to have it while the non-professional 
party-goer is picking away at plain sandwiches, cold 
tongue, mottoes, and cream. A knowledge of Greek 
and Latin don't help a man in the giand raffle for 
woodcock at a New York party, for Brown's Boys are 
sure to win by tact and society diplomacy. 


When the wine comes on, then the professional man. 
of heels is in his element. He turns a sweet patron- 
izing smile upon the caterer, and says, 

"John, no cider champagne for us, yeu kneuw." 
John smiles and hands him the first bottle of fine 
old Roederer. This he generally drinks with the fel- 
lows, while the ladies are eating in the corner. 



Now he approaches the caterer and says with a pa- 
tronizing wink: 

"John, some more of our kind, yeii kneuw," and 
John hands out two bottles more — one to be drunk 
with the ladies, and the other Charley " corners " with 
a laugh, behind their dresses. The girls think this is 
very funny, and they laugh at Charley's coup in high 

This is a nice provision on the part of the champagne 
"cornerer," for soon "the governor's" best champagne 
gives out. Then while the unprofessionals, having ex- 
hausted everything from cider champagne, through 
sparkling Catawba, to Set Sherry, are all sipping away 
at rum punch, Charley is reveling in Widow Clicquot's 
best. All the girls are laughing, too, and Charley is 
voted "a deuced smart fellow.'* 

Now he is up to the prettiest tricks, even to taking 
a young lady's hand, or even her mother's. They all 
say, " It's all right — Charley has been * cornering' a little 
too much champagne — that's all. Ha! ha!" 


Let's see what Charley has cost Nellie Smith's gov- 
ernor to-night. 

Carriage (which Nellie Smith sent) $5 oo 

Two woodcock (totally eaten up) I 50 

Salad and oysters (destroyed) 1 00 

Cigars (smoked and pocketed) 1 00 

Champagne 12 00 

Total for Charley $20 50 

Cr. By face and heels lent to Nellie for occasion $20 50 

Balance , , . , .,.,,,,♦,. 000 00 


A kind old father-in-law on Madison avenue, who 
is supporting four or five of Brown's Boys as sons-in- 
law, went down to see Barnum's Feejee Cannibals. 

"Why are they called Cannibals?" he asked of Mr. 

"Because they live off of other people," replied the 
great showman. 

rt O, I see," replied the unhappy father-in-law. "Alas ! 
my four Brown's Boys sons-in-law are Cannibals, too — 
they live off of me!" 


I know a Brown's Boy — Charley 
Munson — whose pet theory has always 
been to marry a rich orphan girl with 
a hard cough — with the consumption. 

One day he came into my room 
almost heartbroken. 

CHARLEY MUNSON. « My ^ theQry jg exploded," he 

said. "I am discouraged. I want to die." Then the 
tears rolled down his cheek. 

"What is it, Charley? O, what has happened?" I 

"Ohoooo, Eli!" he sobbed, and then he broke down. 

"But what is it, Charley? Confide in me," I said, 
my heart almost breaking in sympathy at his bereave- 

"Well, my friend, my dear friend, I will tell you all 
about it." 

Then he leaned forward, took my hand tremblingly 
in his, and told me his sad, sad story. 

"The other day, Eli," he said, "I met a very rich 
young lady — the rich Miss Astor from Fifth avenue. 
She was very wealthy — wore laces and diamonds — but, 
alas ! she didn't have any cough to go with them. 
She had piles of money, but no sign of a cough — no 
quick consumption — just my luck}" 


Then he buried his face in his hands. He wept 
long and loud. 

■J* *^ *y» 3J* •!* "T* *1* "J* "P 

*j_ a. j» »i* *i* •!* *1* 

^^ ^^ T» *^ ^^ ^p *^ 

"What else, Charley?" I asked, after he had re- 
turned to consciousness. 

"Well, yesterday, Eli, I met a beautiful young lady 
from Chicago. She was frail and delicate — had just the 
cough I wanted — a low, hacking, musical cough. It 
was just sweet music to listen to that cough. I took 
her jeweled hand in mine and asked her to be my 
bride ; but alas ! in a fatal moment I learned that she 
hadn't any money to go with her cough, and I had to 
give her up. I lost her. O, I lost her!" 

And then the hot scalding tears trickled through his 
fingers and rolled down on his patent leather boots. 



They don't have any money themselves, Brown's 
Boys don't, and consequently they are looking for rich 
wives. They are handsome fellows, and always man- 
age to keep all the pretty girls "on a string," but they 
never propose. They never come right out like us 
honest fellows, and ask a young lady plump to marry 
them. They are dog-in-the-manger lovers. 

Of late, when I call on Julia, I am always sure to 
find a Brown's Boy at the house. He sits in danger- 
ous proximity to the girl I love, talks very sweetly, 
and, I think, tries to run me out. 

Of course, when you make an evening call on a 
young lady, the first visitor is entitled to the floor, and 
after saying a few pretty things, you are expected to 
place caller number one under everlasting obligations 
to you by putting on your overcoat and leaving. Now, 
Brown's Boy, unlike Mr. Lamb, always comes early and 
goes late, and I've put him under obligations to me 
so many times that I'm getting sick of it. He can 
never live long enough to pay this debt of gratitude. 
Oh, how I hate that Brown's Boy ! 

Last night I had my sweet revenge. 

I had been telling my sad tale of sorrow and disap- 
pointment to Sallie Smith. I told her I "meant busi- 


ness " all the time with Julia, and that I knew Brown's 
Boy was flirting. 

" Now, Miss Sallie, confidentially, what shall I do ?" 
I asked. 

"Well, cousin Eli, I'll tell you just what to do," said 
Sallie, her eyes sparkling with interest. 

"What, Sallie?" 

" Why, the next time you call on Julia you must 
come the 'tiring-out dodge,'" she replied, looking me 
earnestly in the face, and quietly picking a tea-rose 
out of my Prince Albert lappel. 

"What dodge is that, Sallie?" 

" It's just like this, Eli. You must call on Julia as 
usual " 


"And if a Brown's Boy is there, you musn't be the 
least bit jealous r" 


"And you must talk just as entertaining as you 
can " 


"And you musn't look at your watch nor feel uneasy, 
but quietly remove your amber kids, then lay your 
London overcoat on the sofa, and sit down as if you 
had called by special invitation to spend the entire 
evening;" and then Sallie's great liquid eyes looked 
down on her fan. 

"Well, what then?" I asked, deeply interested. 

"Why, a Brown's Boy is a spoony fellow, you know. 
His strength lies in cornering a girl, and coming the 
sentimental dodge. He won't be able to stand such a 


siege as this, and I'll bet a dozen 'six buttons' that 
he'll get up and leave the field to you." 
"All right, my dear Sallie; I'll try it." 
Then I took her dainty little hand, and pondered 
on her stupendous strategy which was to demoralize 
this Brown's Boy, and perhaps capture the loveliest 
blonde girl on Madison avenue. 


Last night I mounted the brown-stone steps which 
led to Julia's palatial residence, with a heart big with 
resolution. I resolved to see Julia and talk with her 
alone, at all hazards. At the touch of the bell, the 
big walnut and bronze door swung back. In a second 
I saw that miserable silver-tongued Charley Brown — 
that flirting Brown's Boy — on the sofa with Julia. 

As I entered, Charley started, and Julia's diamond 
rings flashed a straight streak of light from Charley 
Brown's hands. Oh dear ! those flirting Brown's Boys ! 

"Ah, Julia, I'm delighted to have an opportunity of 
spending an evening with you," I commenced, as I 
slipped off my gloves. 

" Our happiness is mutual, I assure you, Mr. Perkins," 
replied Miss Julia. "Won't you remove your over- 

"Thank you, Miss Julia; it would be unpleasant to 
sit a whole evening with one's overcoat on, and " 

"Then you are liable to take cold when you go out," 
suggested Julia, interrupting me. 

"Especially when one expects to sit and talk for 
several hours," I continued ; " and when I have so 


much to say as I have to-night, I don't know when I 
shall get through." 

Charley Brown began to be a little uneasy now, and 
looking at his watch, ventured to ask : 

"Is Nilsson to sing Mignon to-night, Mr. Perkins?" 

Of course I didn't hear Charley, but kept blazing 
right straight away at Julia about ritualism and parties 
and Lent, and all such society trash. 

"Oh, Miss Julia, did you hear about Jay Gould get- 
ting shot?" I asked, remembering how cousin Sallie 
said I must entertain her, and talk Charley Brown out 
of his boots. 

"Jay Gould got shot! How? Where?" exclaimed 

" Why, in a Seventh avenue hardware store. I mean 
he got pigeon shot for the Jerome Park pigeon match." 

"Oh, Mr. Perkins! Ha! ha! how could you?" 

Then Charley looked at his watch. 

"By the way, Miss Julia, do you know which is the 
strongest day in the week?" I asked modestly, taking 
her beautiful gold fan. 

"No. Which is the strongest day, Mr. Perkins?" 

"Why, Sunday, Julia; don't you 
know all the other days are weak 

" Oh, Mr. Perkins ! Ha ! ha ! you'll 
kill us," exclaimed Julia (while Char- 
ley looked at his watch). Then he 
remarked that " Samson's weakest 
day was the day he let Delilah cut 
off his hair:" but nobody heard him. 


Charley now began to be uneasy. He whirled in 
his chair, then looked at his watch again, and, standing 
up, remarked that he had some letters to write, and that 
duty called him home early. 

" Don't be in a hurry, Mr. Brown," said Julia, still 
talking with me. 

"Good bye, Mr. Brown, good bye!" I said, grasping 
his hand. " Next time, I hope, I sha'n't have so much 
to say to Miss Julia." 

As Charley passed into the hall I asked Julia which 
were worth the most — young gentlemen or young 
ladies ? 

" Why, young ladies, of course — don't you always 
call us dear creatures ?" 

"Yes, but, my dear Julia" — I talked fondly now, 
for Charley was gone — "you know, my dear, that at 
the last end you are given away, while the gentleman 
is often sold !" 

" Oh, Eli, you are very wicked to make such a re- 
mark, when you know every young lady who marries 
one of Brown's Boys is sold in the worst way. I don't 
think Brown's Boys are ever sold. They are soulless 
fellows. But then they are so nice, they dance divinely, 
and they are so spoony — when a girl happens to have 
a rich father. They do dance the German so nicely; 
and then they bow so nice on the avenue on Sunday, 
and come and see us in our papa's boxes at the opera, 
and " 

"And run out us solid fellows who mean business, 
who don't know how to flirt, and who really love you," 
I interrupted. 


"What! you mean business, Mr. Perkins?" and Julia 
gave me a searching look. 

"Yes, my dear Julia;" and then I took her hand 
convulsively. Neither of us said a word; but, oh! 
how you could have heard the heart-beating! 

Julia never took it away at all, and now I'm a 
happy man — all because cousin Sallie Smith told me 
how to do it ! 


Fifth Avenue Hotel, ) 
August i. \ 

The rich Brown's Boys! 

Not the poor Brown's 
Boys who live on side streets, 
and buy $i tickets, and 
swell in amber kids in rich 
young ladies' $20 boxes at 
the opera — smart fellows, 
who really can't do any 
better, but the good-for- 
nothing rich Brown's Boys. 



Who are they ? 

Why, the city is full of them. 
They have rich fathers; they drive 
their father's horses ; their fathers are 
stockholders in the Academy, and the 
boys occupy the seats. Their mission 
is to spend their father's money and 
live like barnacles on his reputation. 
They don't know how to do anything 
useful, and they don't have anything useful to do. 
They come into the world to be supported. They are 
social and financial parasites. A poor Brown's Boy 
does the best he can, but these fellows do the worst 
they can. 



Rich girls " go for " them on account of their rich 
fathers. They marry them, have a swell wedding, and 
then spend a lifetime mourning that they did not marry 
a brave, strong, working fellow, who would have felt 
rich in their affections, and who, with a little help from 
father-in-law, would have hewn his way to wealth and 


Below I give the ten cardinal rules which, if followed, 
will make a rich Brown's Boy out of any brainless son 
of a rich father. Any young New Jersey Stockton, 
Kentucky Ward, or Massachusetts Lawrence — yes, any 
Darnphool Republican Prince of Wales can carry out 
these simple rules, and thus attain to the glorious posi- 
tion of a rich Brown's Boy. If carried out they will 
produce the same result nine times out of ten. I have 
seen them tried a thousand times : 


First. — If your father is rich or holds a Ingh position 
socially — and you are a good-for-nothii\g, dissipated, 
darnphool of a swell, without sense or character enough 
to make a living, pay your addresses to some rich girl 
— and marry her if you can. 

Second. — Go home and live with her father, and mag- 
nanimously spend her money. Keep up your flirtations 
around town just the same. Gamble a little, and always 
dine at the Clubs. 

Third. — After your wife has nursed you through a 
spell of sickness, and she looks languid and worn with 


anxiety, tell her, like a high-toned gentleman, that she 
has grown plain-looking — then scold her a little and 
make love to her maid ! 

Fourth. — If your weary wife objects, I'd insult her — 
tell her you won't be tyrannized over. Then come 
home drunk once or twice a week, and empty the coal- 
scuttle into the piano and pour the kerosene lamps 
over her Saratoga trunks and into the baby's cradle. 
When she cries, I'd twit her about the high (hie) social 
position of my own (hie) family. 

Fifth. — If, weary and sick and heartbroken, she 
finally asks for a separation, I'd blacken her character 
— deny the paternity of my own children — get a divorce 
myself. Then by wise American law you can keep all 
her money, and, while she goes back in sorrow to her 
father, you can magnanimously peddle out to her a 
small dowry from her own estate. 

Sixth. — If she asks you — audaciously asks you — for 
any of her own money, tell her to go to the Dev — 
Devil (the very one she has come to). 

Seventh. — Now I 'd keep a mistress and a poodle dog, 
and ride up to the Park with them in a gilded landaulet 
every afternoon. While this miserable, misguided 
woman will be trodden in the dust by society you can 
attain to the heights of modern chivalry by leading at 
charity balls in public, and breeding bull-pups and 
coach-dogs at home. 

Eighth. — After you have used up your wife's last 
money in dissipation, and brought your father's gray 
hairs down in sorrow to the grave, I'd get the delirium 
tremens and shoot myself. This will create a sensation 


in the newspapers and cause every other rich Brown's 
Boy to call you high-toned and chivalrous. 

Ninth. — Then that poor angel wife, crushed in spirit, 
tried in the crucible of adversity, and purified by the 
beautiful " Do-unto-others " of the Christ-child, will 
go into mourning, and build with her last money a 
monument to the memory of the man who crushed 
her bleeding heart. 


Sacred to the Memory 



Died May 12, 1876. 

He was a kind father and 
an indulgent husband. He 
always indulged himself. 

" The pure in spirit shall 
see God." 

He owned a 2.40 Hoss. 



Brown's Girls ! 

Ves, we have Brown's Girls, too. 

They are a set of husband-hunting young ladies — 
sf^iart, accomplished, and pretty, but with no hearts, 
They only marry for money. They are thus taught by 
their mothers, and failing to catch fortunes, many of 
them become blase old maids. 

Below I give the diary of two days in the life of a 
New York young lady. At nineteen she is honest, 
loveable, and innocent. Seven years after she becomes 
a blase, Brown's Girl. 

her diary — 1875. 

May 1, 1875. — Nineteen to-day — 
and I'm too happy to live ! How 
lovely the Park looked this morning. 
How gracefully the swans swam on 
the lake, and how the yellow dan- 
delions lifted up their yellow faces 
— all smiles I 
Albert — dear Albert — passed mam- 
ma and me, and bowed so gracefully ! Mamma frowned 
at him. O, dear ! I am not quite happy. 

Last night my first ball, and Albert was there. 





Four times he came, and I let him put his name on 
my card — then mamma frowned savagely. She said I 
ought to be ashamed to waste my time with a poor 
fellow like Albert Sinclair. Then she brought up old 
Thompson, that horrid rich old widower, and I had 
to scratch Albert's name off. When Albert saw me 
dancing with Thompson the color came to his cheeks, 
and he only just touched the ends of my fingers in 
the grand chain. 

O, dear, one of Albert's little fingers 
is worth more than old Thompson's 
right arm. How stupidly old Thompson 
talked, but mamma smiled all the time. 
Once she tipped me on the shoulder, 
and said in a low, harsh voice, " Be 
agreeable, Lizzie, for Mr. Thompson is 
a great catch." Then Thompson, the stupid old fool, 
tried to talk like the young fellows. He told me I 
looked "stunning," said the ball was a "swell" affair, 
and then asked me to ride up to the Park in his four- 
horse drag. Bah! Mother says I must go, but, O, 
dear, I'd rather walk two blocks with Albert than ride 
ten miles in a chariot with the old dyed whiskers. 

After supper such an event took place. Albert 
joined me, and after a lovely waltz we wandered into 
the conservatory and had a nice confidential chat to- 
gether. It is wonderful how we both like the same 
things. He admires the beautiful moon — so do I. I 
love the stars, and so does he ! We both like to look 
out of the open window, and we both like to be near 
each other — that is, I know I do. Albert dotes on 



Longfellow, and, 0, don't I ! I like Poe, and so does 
Albert, and the little tears fairly started (but Albert 
didn't see them) when he repeated softly in my 

" For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams, 
Of my beautiful Annabel Lee ; 

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 
Of my beautiful Annabel Lee," 

^and a good deal more besides, about love and the 
sounding sea. Then Fannie Carter, who is in my class 
at Mrs. Hoffman's, came by with Will Mason, and sat 
right down in the next window. I do believe she 
loves him ! 

What a nice, sensible talk Albert and I had! First, 
we began talking about the soul — how destiny some- 
times bound two souls together by an invisible chain. 
Then we considered the mission of man and woman 
upon the earth — how they ought to comfort and sup- 
port each other in sickness and in health. And then 
Albert quite startled me by asking me if I had ever 
cared for any one. And when I said " Yes, papa and 
mamma," he laughed, and said he did not mean them, 
and then I felt quite hurt, and the tears would come 
into my eyes, for I do love mamma, even if she does 
make me dance with that horrid old Thompson, with 
his dyed whiskers. 

Then Albert leaned his face towards mine. I felt 
his mustache almost touch me as he whispered such 
nice words in my ear. He told me how he had longed 
for an opportunity to speak to me alone, how — and 
then I was so happy, for I knew he was going to say 


something very nice indeed — when ma, with that dread- 
ful old widower, came along and interrupted us. 

"Come, Lizzie, you go with Mr. Thompson, for I 
want to present Mr. Sinclair to Miss Brown," and then 
ma — O, dear! she took Albert and presented him to 
the girl that I hate worst of anybody in school. I 
didn't see Albert again, for when he came around, ma 
said, " Lizzie, it looks horrible to be seen dancing with 
Albert Sinclair all the evening. You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself." 

O, dear, I look like a fright — I know I do, but I 
do hope I shall look better when I see Albert on the 
avenue to-morrow. Let's see — I wonder if he won't 
write to me ? But I'll see him when he walks up from 
business to-night — maybe. 

HER DIARY, 1882. 

May 1, 1882. — Out again last 
night. What a horrible bore par- 
ties are! I hate society. New 
York women are so prudish, with 
their atrocious high-neck dresses, 
and the fellows are so wretchedly 
slow. O, dear ! Everything goes 
wrong. If I hadn't met Bob Mun- 
roe, who took us to the Mabille and 
the Alhambra, on the other side 
last summer, I'd 'a' died. Bob's double entendre rather 
startled the poky New York girls, though. Gracious, 
they ought to hear the French beaux talk! They do 
make such a fuss about our Paris decollete dresses, 



Why, Bessie Brown wore a dress at a Queen's Draw- 
ing Room with hardly any body on at all — and she 
had that same dress on last night. Of . course I 
could not stand any chance with her, for cticolletS 
dresses do take the fellows so. But I'll be on hand 
next time. 

Young Sinclair, with whom I used to " spoon " years 
ago, was there — and married to Fannie Carter, my 
old classmate. Pshaw ! she is a poky, old, high- 
necked, married woman now, and Sinclair — well, they 
say that he was almost broken-hearted at my con- 
duct — that he drank, and then reformed and joined 
the church, and is now a leading clergyman. Well, 
I'm glad Sinclair became a preacher. I always knew 
black would become his complexion. 
What if I should go and hear him 
preach, flirt with him a little, and get 
his poky old wife jealous ! Good- 
ness ! but don't he look serious, 
though! There's a glass — gracious! 
I'm as pale as a ghost! There's no 
use of my trying to dress without 
rouge. I do wish they would learn 
how to put on pearl white here — why, every wrinkle 
shows through. Then I do wish New York fellows 
would learn how to dance! — that atrocious galop 
upset my pads, and I had to leave in the middle of 
the dance to arrange things. Old Thompson is dead, 
died single — but his brother, the rich whiskey man, 
was there, and gracious! it was fun to dance with 
him after he had taken in his usual two bottles of 



champagne. He turned everything — the lanciers, polka, 
and all — into the Virginia reel. That's Bob Monroe's 
pun. But after we got through dancing, didn't I 
have a flirtation with Old Thompson No. 2 while 
Albert Sinclair was helping mother to some refresh- 
ments! Dear old thing, she don't bother me in my 
conservatory flirtation any more. Well, Old Thompson 
No. 2 got quite affectionate — wanted to kiss my hand, 
and when I let him he wanted to kiss me! The 
old wretch — when he's got a wife and three daughters. 
But I had my fun — I made him propose condition- 
ally — that is, if Mrs. Thompson dies ; and I tell ma 
then I'm going to be one of our gay and dashing 
young wives with "an old fool of a husband — and 
plenty of lovers. O, dear! I'm tired and sleepy, and 
I do believe my head aches awfully, and it's that 
abominable champagne. What goosies Fannie Carter 
and Albert Sinclair have made of themselves ! What 
fun can she have with the men ? O, dear ! 



" Eli !" 
"Yes, sir." 

"Are you listening ?" 
continued my Uncle Con- 
sider, as he took his pipe 
out of his mouth, laid 
down his glasses, and 
poked the fire with the 

"With both ears, Un- 

"Well, let me tell you suthin'. If you want to be 
wize, Eli, you must allers listen. If you want to be 
wize you must let other people do all the talkin' — 
then you'll soon know all they know, Eli, and have 
your own nolledge besides. D'you see?" 

"Yes, Uncle." 

"And never you blow a man's 
brains out to get his money, Eli, 
but just sly around and blow his. 
money out and get his brains — 

"And be temp'rate and econo- 
mical, Eli, and " 

" Yes, Uncle, I always try to be 

careful. I always owe enough to 

pay all my debts, and I'd rather 

careful eli. owe a man forever than cheat him 



Out of it. I'd pay every debt I owe if I had to go 
out and borrow money to do it; I would. The fact 
is, Uncle," I said, getting excited, " I always advise 
the boys to be steady and saving. I advise 'em to 
stick, stick to their places and be temperate, no matter 
how hard they have to work, and it'll make men of 
'em. But the rascals " 

"What, Eli?" 

" Why, they all pay more 'tention to my example 
than they do to my precepts, and they're all turnin' 
out loafers." 

" That's dre'fful sad, Eli," said my Uncle, wiping his 
eyes sorrowfully, "when I've allers talkt to you so 
much about the dignity of labor — when I've allers 
taught you to obey the script'ral injunction to live by 
the sweat of your brow." 

"But I always do that; don't I, Uncle?" 

" Yes ; but how can you live by the sweat of your 
brow, Eli, when you spend all your time trav'lin' 
'round and lecturin' and foolin' about ? How can 

"Why, Uncle, that's just what I travel for. I go 
down South winters, where it is hot, so I can live by 
the sweat of my brow without working so hard." 

" And about this drinkin' business, Eli — this drinkin' 
wine and cider and beer? Don't you know the Bible 
is agin it? Don't you?" 

"Yes, Uncle, I know it; but haven't you read the 
parable in the Bible about turnin' water into wine?" 

"Yes, my nevvy." 

" Well, that's all I do, Uncle ; I just turn water into 


my wine, and I don't turn much water in either, 
and " 

" What's that, Eli ! Do you mean to say that you 
ever drink at all? Do you " 

" No, Uncle, never. The tempter came to me the 
other day. But when they pressed me to take whiskey 
I took umbrage " 

" Took umbrage, did you ! O, my nevvy, that must 
be an awful drink ! Umbrage ? O, did I think it 
would ever come to this? — u-m-b-r-a-g-e," and Uncle 
Consider wiped his eyes with his red bandana. 

"But, Uncle," I said, trying to cheer the old man 
up, " I'm opposed to whiskey. I do not drink with 
impunity. I " 

"Don't drink with Impunity, Eli! Well, I thought 
you allers drank with everybody who invited you. 
Mebby Impunity didn't invite you, Eli? Well, well, 
well, well, I a?n glad to find one man that you refused 
to drink with, I am." And Uncle Consider knocked 
the ashes out of his pipe and fell asleep in his chair, 
repeating, " Didn't drink with Impunity." 



Yes, Colonel Fisk was a funny man, and a man 
always full of humor could not have been a very bad 
man at heart. 

Once I had occasion to spend an hour with the 
Colonel in his palatial Erie office, and a record of 
that hour I then wrote out. Fisk was being shaved as 
I entered, and his face was half-covered with foaming 
lather. Just then some one came in and told him that 
the gentlemen in the office had made up a purse of 
$34 to be presented to little Peter, Fisk's favorite little 
office boy. 

"All right," said the Colonel, smiling and wiping the 
lather from his face. "Call in Peter." 
In a moment little Peter entered 
with a shy look and seemingly half 

"Well, Peter," said the Colonel, as 
he held the envelope with the money 
in one hand and the towel in the 
other, "what did you mean, sir, by 
absenting yourself from the Erie Office, the other day, 
when both Mr. Gould and I were away, and had left 
the whole mass of business on your shoulders ?" 




Then he frowned fearfully, while Peter trembled from 
head to foot. 

" But, my boy," continued Fisk, " I will, not blame 
you ; there may be extenuating circumstances. Evil 
associates may have tempted you away. Here, Peter, 
take this (handing him the $34), and henceforth let your 
life be one of rectitude — quiet rectitude, Peter. Be- 
hold me, Peter, and remember that evil communications 
are not always the best policy, but that honesty is worth 
two in the bush." 

As Peter went back to his place beside the outside 
door everybody laughed, and Fisk sat down again to 
have the other side of his face shaved. 

Pretty quick in came a little dried-up 
old gentleman, with keen gray eyes sur- 
mounted by an overpowering Panama hat. 
The Erie Railway office was then the 
old gentleman's almost" daily rendezvous. 
drew. Here he would sit for hours at a time, 

and peer out from under his broadbrim at the wonder- 
ful movements of Colonel Fisk. Cautious, because he 
could move but slowly, this venerable gentleman, who 
has made Wall Street tremble, hitched up to the gold 
indicator, all the time keeping one eye on the quotations 
and the other on the Colonel. As a feeler, he vent- 
ured to ask : 

" How is Lake Shore this morning, Colonel ?" 
" Peter," said Fisk, with awful gravity, " communi- 
cate with the Great American Speculator and show 
him how they are dealing on the street!" 

The old man chuckled, Gould hid a smile while 


smoothing his jetty whiskers, and little Peter took hold 
of the running wire with Daniel Drew. It was the 
beginning and the ending — youth and experience — 
simplicity and shrewdness — Peter and Daniel ! 

Little Peter was about ten years old, and small at 
that* Frequently large men would come into the Erie 
office and " bore " the Colonel. Then he would say : 

" Here, Peter, take this man into custody, and hold 
him under arrest until we send for him!" 

"You seem very busy to-day?" I remarked, handing 
the Colonel a cigar. 

"Yes, Eli," said Fisk, smiling. "I'm trying to find 
out from all these papers where Gould gets money 
enough to pay his income tax. He never has any 
money — -fact, sir! He even wanted to borrow of me 
to pay his income tax last summer, and I lent him four 
hundred dollars, and that's gone, too ! This income 
business will be the ruination of Gould." Here the 
venerable Daniel Drew concealed a laugh, and Gould 
turned clear around, so that Fisk could only see the 
back of his head, while his eyes twinkled in enjoyment 
of the Colonel's fun. 

"What will be the end of putting down the railroad 
fares, Colonel?" I asked, referring to the jealous op- 
position in fares then existing between the Erie and 
New York Central. 

" End ! why we haven't begun yet. We intend to 
carry passengers through to Chicago, before we get 
through, two for a cent and feed them on the way; 
and when old Van does the same the public will go 
on his road just to spite him!" 


"Of course, the Erie is the best road," continued 
Fisk, in his Munchausen way. "It runs faster and 
smoother. When Judge Porter went up with me in 
the Directors' car, last winter, we passed 200 canal 
boats, about a mile apart, on the Delaware and Hud- 
son canal. The train went so fast that the Judge 
came back and reported that he saw one gigantic 
canal boat ten miles long! Fact, sir! We went so 
fast the Judge couldn't see the gaps!" 

" Are the other railroads going to help you in this 
fight?" I asked. 

"Why, yes, they say they will; but they are all 
afraid to do anything till we get Vanderbilt tied fast. 
Do you want me to tell you who these other half- 
scared railroad fellows, Garrett and Tom Scott, re- 
mind me of?" asked the Colonel, leaning himself for- 
ward, with his elbows on his knees. 

"Yes; who, Colonel?" 

" Well, Scott and Garrett remind me of the old 
Texas ranchman, whose neighbors had caught a noted 
cattle-thief. After catching him, they tied him to a 
tree, hands and feet, and each one gave him a terrible 
cowhiding. When tired of walloping him, they left 
the poor thief tied to the tree, head and foot. He 
remained tied up there a good while in great agony, 
till by and by he saw with delight a strange man 
coming along. 

" * Who are you ?° said fhe kindly-looking stran- 

" ' I'm Bill Smith, arid I've been whipped almost 
to death,* said the man in a pitiful tone. 


' Ah, Bill Smith, how could they whip you — a poor 
lone man ?' asked the sympathizing stranger. 

U i 

« i 

Why, don't you see/ I'm tied? 

What, did they tie you up?' 

Yes, tied me tight. Don't you see the strings 

now ?' 

<< < 

it t 

Poor man! How could they be so cruel?' sighed 
the stranger. 

But I'm tied now,' groaned the man. 
What ! tied now — tied so you can't move this 
very moment, Bill ?' asked the stranger, eagerly exam- 
ining the ropes. 

" * Yes, tied tight, hands and feet, and I can't move 
a muscle,' said the thief, pitifully. 

" ' Well, William, as you are tied tight, / don't mind 
if I give you a few licks myself for that horse you 
stole from me,' said the stranger, cutting a tremendous 
whip from a bunch of thorn bushes.' Then," said Fisk, 
"he flogged him awhile, just as all these small railroad 
fellows would like to flog Vanderbilt if he was well 

But, alas, they never get Vanderbilt tied. 


When Montaland got on from Paris, last year, Fisk 
had just said farewell to "Josie," and so he took 
extra pains to make a good impression on his beau- 
tiful prima donna. 

On the first sunshiny afternoon after Montaland 
had seen the Wonderful Opera House, Fisk took her 
out to the Park behind his magnificent six-in-hand,. 


Passing up Fifth avenue, Montaland's eyes rested on 
A. T. Stewart's marble house. 

"Vat ees zat?" she asked, in broken French. 

"Why, that is my city residence," said Fisk, with an 
air of profound composure. 

" Cest magnifique — c'est grande ! " repeated Monta- 
land, in admiration. 

Soon they came to Central Park. 

" Vat ees zees place ?" asked Montaland. 

" O, this is my country seat ; these are my grounds — 
my cattle and buffaloes, and those sheep over there 
compose my pet sheepfold," said Fisk, twirling the 
end of his mustache a la Napoleon. 

"Cest tres magnifique!" exclaimed Montaland in 
bewilderment. "Mr. Feesk is one grand Americain!" 

By-and-by they rode back and down Broadway, 
by the Domestic Sewing Machine building. 

"And is zees your grand maison, too ?" asked Mon- 
taland, as she pointed up to the iron palace. 

" No, Miss Montaland ; to be frank with you, that 
building does not belong to me," said Fisk, as he 
settled back with his hand in his bosom — " that belongs 
to Mr. Gould 7" 


One day I called at the Erie office. Col. Fisk's 
old chair was vacant, and his desk was draped in 
mourning. Fisk's remains lay cold and stiff, just as 
he fell at the Grand Central, pierced by the fatal bullet 
from Stokes's pistol. His old associates were silent, 
or gathered in groups to tell over reminiscences of the 


dead Colonel, whose memory was beloved and revered 
by his companions. 

Mr. Gould never tired in telling about Fisk's good 
qualities. Even while he was telling the quaintest 
anecdotes about his dead partner, his eyes would glisten 
with tears. 

" One day," said Mr. Gould, " Fisk came to me and 
told me confidentially about his first mistake in life." 

"What was it?" I asked. 

"Well," said Gould, as he laughed and wiped his 
eyes alternately, " Fisk said that when he was an in- 
nocent little boy* living on his father's farm up at 
Brattleboro, Vermont, his father took him into the 
stable one day, where a row of cows stood in their 
uncleaned stalls. 

"Said he, 'James, the stable window is pretty high 
for a boy, but do you think you could take this shovel 
and clean out the stable?' 

" ' I don't know, Pop,' says I ; 'I never have done 

"'Well, my boy, if you will do it this morning, I'll 
give you this bright silver dollar,' said my father, pat- 
ting me on my head, while he held the silver dollar 
before my eyes. 

"'Good,' says I; 'I'll try,' and then I went to work. 
I tugged and pulled and lifted and puffed, and finally 
it was done, and father gave me the bright silver dol- 
lar, saying: 

'"That's right, James; you did it splendidly, and 
now I find you can do it so nicely, I shall have you 
do it every morning all winter'" 



» • 

One day a poor, plain, blunt man stumbled into 
Fisk's room. Said he : 

" Colonel, I've heard you are a generous man, and 
I've come to ask a great favor." 

"Well, what is it, my good man?" asked Fisk. 

" I want to go to Lowell, sir, to my wife, and I 
haven't a cent of money in the world," said the man, 
in a firm, manly voice. 

"Where have you been?" asked the Colonel, drop- 
ping his pen. 

"I don't want to tell you," replied the man, drop- 
ping his head. 

"Out with it, my man, where have you been?" said 

"Well, sir, I've been to Sing Sing State Prison." 

"What for?" 

" Grand larceny, sir. I was put in for five years, 
but was pardoned out yesterday, after staying four 
years and one-half. I am here, hungry and without 

"All right, my man," said Fisk, kindly, "you shall 
have a pass, and here — here is $5. Go and get a meal 
of victuals, and then ride down to the boat in an Erie 
coach, like a gentleman. Commence life again, and if 
you are honest and want a lift come to me." 

Perfectly bewildered, the poor convict took the 
money, and six months afterward Fisk got a letter 
from him. He was doing a thriving mercantile busi- 
ness, and said Fisk's kindness and cheering words gave 


him the first hope — his first strong resolve to become 
a man. 


Ten minutes after the poor convict left, a poor 
young negro preacher called. 

" What do you want ? Are you from Sing Sing, 
too?" asked Fisk. 

" No, sir ; I'm a Baptist preacher from Hoboken. I 
want to go to the Howard Seminary in Washington," 
said the negro. 

"All right, Brother Johnson," said Fisk. "Here, 
Comer," he said, addressing his secretary, " give Broth- 
er Johnson $20, and charge it to Charity," and the 
Colonel went on writing, without listening to the stream 
of thanks from the delighted negro. 

don't count charity. 

One day the Colonel was walking up Twenty-third 
street to dine with one of the Erie directors, when a 
poor beggar came along. The beggar followed after 
them, saying, in a plaintive tone, " Please give me a 
dime, gentlemen ?" 

The gentleman accompanying Fisk took out a roll of 
bills and commenced to unroll them, thinking to find 
a half or a quarter. 

"Here, man!" said Fisk, seizing the whole roll and 
throwing it on the sidewalk, "take the pile." 

Then looking into the blank face of his friend, he 
said, " Thunderation, Sam, you never count charity, 
$0 you!" 


"But, great guns, Colonel, there was $20 in that 
roll," exclaimed the astonished gentleman. 

"Never mind," said Fisk, "then I'll stand the sup- 
per to-night." 


Somebody in Brattleboro came down to New York 
to ask Fisk for a donation to help them build a new 
fence around the graveyard where he is now buried. 

"What in thunder do you want a new fence for?" 
exclaimed the Colonel. "Why, that old fence will 
keep the dead people in, and live people will keep out 
as long as they can, any way!" 

fisk's last joke. 

The day before Fisk was shot he came into the 
office, and after looking over some interest account, he 
shouted, "Gould! Gould!" 

"Well, what?" says Gould, stroking his jetty 

"I want to know how you go to work to figure 
this interest so that it amounts to more than the 
principal ?" said the Colonel. 


What a miserable reprobate the preachers all make 
Fisk out to be ! And they are right. Why, the 
scoundrel actually stopped his coupe one cold, dreary 
night on Seventh avenue, and got out, inquired where 
she lived, and gave a poor old beggar woman a dollar ' 


He seemed to have no shame about him, for the 
next day the debauched wretch sent her around a 
barrel of flour and a load of coal. One day the 
black-hearted scoundrel sent ten dollars and a bag of 
flour around to a widow woman with three starving 
children ; and, not content with this, the remorseless 
wretch told the police captain to look after all the 
poor widows and orphans in his ward and send them 
to him when they deserved charity. What a shameless 
performance it was to give that poor negro preacher 
$20 and send him on to Howard University! And 
how the black-hearted villain practiced his meanness 
on the poor, penniless old woman who wanted to go 
to Boston, by paying her passage and actually escort- 
ing her to a free state-room, while the old woman's 
tears of gratitude were streamiug down her cheeks ! 
Oh ! insatiate monster ! thus to give money to penni- 
less negro preachers and starving women and chil- 


The other evening, at the 
Fifth Avenue Hotel, after being 
sworn in to preach the gospel 
of Fifth Avenue as I under- 
stood it, I arose, took off 
my brown linen duster, and 
said : 

My dear sisters : 

The stanza — 
" I want to be an angel," 
which you have just 
sung will not help 
you much unless you 
change your course of 
life. You must commence dressing more like angels 
here in this world if you want to be a real live angel 
in the next. You'd make healthy lookin' angels, 
wouldn't you? Now, wouldn't you? Angels don't 
wear pearl powder, do they ? and angels don't wear 
false braids. They don't enamel their faces and smell 
of Caswell and Hazard's cologne, nor bore holes in 
their ears like Injuns and put Tiffany's ear-rings in 
them ! Angels don't dye their hair, nor wear big dia- 
monds, and have liveries and footmen, like many of 
our " shoddy " people. They ■ 




"But how can we tell 'shoddy' people, Uncle Eli?" 
interrupted several young ladies in the congregation. 

This way, my friends, I said : When a strange family 
arrives at our hotel, you must watch them closely. 
Divinity puts up certain infallible signs to distinguish 
the ignorant and vulgar from the children of culture 
and virtue. 

i. If a lady comes into the parlor with a diamond 
ring on the outside of her glove, it is safe to ask her 
how much she gets a week. [" Hear, hear !" and sev- 
eral ladies put their hands under their paniers.] 

2. If Providence erects a dyed mustache over the 
mouth of a man, it is to show that he is a gambler 
or a vulgarian. [Cheers, when two Americus Club 
men, a gambler, and four plug-uglies from Baltimore, 
put their hands over their mustaches.] 

3. If, when that new family enter or leave the dining- 
room or parlor, the gentlemen rush ahead, leaving the 
ladies to follow, there is something " shoddy " some- 

4. If the man presents the ladies to the gentlemen, 
instead of vice versa, and they all shake hands on first 
presentation, then you may know they hail from Oil City. 

5. If, when they go in to dinner, they do nothing but 
loudly order the waiters around, and talk about the 
wine, you can make up your mind they are the first 
waiters they ever had and that is the only wine they 
ever drank. If they pick their teeth at the table, or 
take out their false teeth and rinse them in the tumbler 
[A voice — " Shoot them on the spot !"] — yes, my friends, 
I say that to their teetr|. 


6. If, when a gentleman sits in the parlor talking to 
a lady, he doesn't sit up straight, but sprawls all over 
the sofa, puts the soles of his boots on the lady's dress, 
on the furniture, or wipes his shoes on his own white 
linen pantaloons, you'd better refuse an introduction 
to him. [Applause, when eight young fellows, who sat 
with their legs radiating like the wings of a windmill, 
or sprawling one foot cross-legged in the empty air, 
whirled themselves right side up.] 

7. If the ladies in that party whitewash their faces, 
redden their lips, blacken their eyebrows, or bronze or 
yellow their hair, just you think this is another sign 
which Providence puts up so you can shun them. 
Enamel and hair-dye are social beacon-lights, to enable 
you to keep off the rocks of Cypria. Just you keep 
away from such people, for they are wolves in sheep's 

Voice from a young lady — "But we want to look 
beautiful, Mr. Perkins." 

But this will not make you beautiful, my children. 
Any sweetheart who is so shallow as to take whitewash 
for the human skin, or rouge for the rose-cheeks of 
nature, is too much of a sap-head to make a good 
husband; and if he is smart enough to see through 
your deception — why, he will surely leave you in dis- 
gust. [Applause by the gentlemen, while several ladies 
wiped their faces with their pocket-handkerchiefs.] 

8. If, when this family get into their carriage to ride 
around the Park, the young ladies appear in gaudy 
colors, throw over their laps a bright yellow and red 
or blue afghan, anci the coachman wears a gold hat- 


band, and a sprawl-tailed yellow livery, with velvet 
collar, and holds brass-bespangled horses with white 
reins, you may know that the owner keeps a livery 
stable and that this is his first carriage. 

9. It is considered the height of impoliteness to 
criticise persons to their faces, and still many vulga- 
rians try to make polite reputations by picking up other 
people, when the correction is ten times a more flagrant 
breach of etiquette than the original mistake. I have 
seen plebeians who, if a man by design chose to eat 
the fine ends of his asparagus with a knife, would call 
his attention to the error — thus straining at a doubtful 
gnat of custom and swallowing a camel of impolite- 
ness. Politeness is to do as you would be done by, 
and anything you do, if you wish to be polite, must 
be tried by this golden rule. 

In conclusion, my dear brothers and sisters, I will 
say that politeness does not depend upon eating peas 
with a fork, but it rests on the grander and broader 
basis of love for your fellow-man. 

How is your mother, Johnny? 

"Oh, she's dead, I thank you!" is a silly drop of 
Mrs. Potiphar politeness, which looks sick beside the 
big ocean of manly generosity which comes out of the 
Pike's Peak, "Come up, old boy, and liquor, or fight!" 

There being several Members of Congress present, 
Dr. Chapin now lined the hymn — 

" I love to steal a while," 
and the congregation, like a man with a poor hand at 
euchre, passed out. 


Coming up from Broad Street in 
the cars yesterday I met a poor dis- 
consolate Wall Street broker. His 
heart seemed broken and his face 
was the picture of despair. I had 
been usher at his wedding a few 
months before, when he seemed the 
"erie down?" picture of happiness; so, smiling, I 

asked : 
" Why, Charles, what has happened ; what makes you 
look so sad?" 

" Oh, Eli ! " he sighed, " I am all broken up. I have 
met with a dreadful misfortune." 

"What is it, Charley?" I asked sympathetically. 
" Ohoooo, dear Eli, I cannot — cannot tell you," and 
then he sobbed again, "Ohhooooo!" 

" But what is it, Charley ? Perhaps I can comfort 

" No, Eli. I am so discouraged I want to die." 
" Are you ruined, Charley ? is your money all gone ?" 
" Oh, no, Eli, not so bad as that ; but Nellie, my dear 
wife, is dead," and then he broke down again. 

" Cheer up, Charley, there may be some happiness 
left yet. Do not die now," I said. 

" No, Eli, I am all broken up — ruined ! I don't take 



any interest in anything now. My mind is constantly 
with my poor, angel wife. I dream of her all the time 
— in the morning and at night, and — by the way, Eli, 
how did you say Erie closed to-night?" 

" Erie is down and they are ' all off,' Charley." 

" Well, that's cheering," he sobbed, " for when I got 
1 shoirt ' of Nellie, I went ' short ' of the whole market, 
and it's very consoling in my grief to find things look- 
ing so cheerful on the street. And what did you say 
about Pacific Mail, Eli?" 

" Flat as a flounder. The bears have got the whole 
market, Charley." 

" Well, that's cheering, too, Eli. That is indeed 
cheering, to think my losses are compensated — that 
when the angels had a ' call ' on Nellie I should have 
a 'put' on Uncle Daniel Drew. It is so consoling to 
be able to ' cover ' your losses, you know. Oh, Nellie 
was such a comfort to me ! but we can't have every- 
thing in this world, Eli. We can't always have the 
whole market our own way. If we take our profits, we 
must bear our losses. Now let us have a little of Jules 
Mumm's extra dry, to drink to the memory of my 
poor dead — goodness! Eli, I'll make $5,000 on that 
Erie 'put' as easy 's drinkin a sherry cobbler!" 


One day, as the Kansas Pacific train neared Topeka, 
I sat down by an old farmer from Lawrence. Corn 
bins lined the road, and millions of 'bushels of corn 
greeted us from the car windows. Sometimes the bins 
full of golden grain followed the track like a huge 
yellow serpent. 

Looking up at the old granger, I asked him where 
all this corn came from. "Do you ship it from New 
York, sir?" 

"From what?" he said. 

"From New York, sir." 

"What, corn from New York!" 

"Yes, sir," I said. "Did you import it from New 
York, or did you ship it from England?" 

He looked at me from head to foot, examined my 
coat, looked at my ears, and then exclaimed, 

"Great God!" 

I never heard those two words sound so like " darned 
fool " before. 

A moment afterwards the old farmer turned his eyes 
pityingly upon me and asked me where I lived. 

"I live in New York, sir." 


" In New York, sir. I came West to lecture.' 




"What, you lecture?" 

"Yes, sir." 


"I do." 

"You lecture! you do? Well, I'd 
give ten dollars to hear you lecture." 

I never knew whether this was a 
great compliment, or — well, or what it 

URE ?*' 


I saw a man pulling his 
arms off trying to get on a 
new pair of boots, so I 

Happy Thought — They 
are too small, my man, and 
you will never be able to 
get them on till you have 
worn them a spell ! 

I heard an officer in the 
Seventh Regiment scolding 
a private for coming too 
late to drill, so I said : 

Happy Thought — Somebody must always come last; 
this fellow ought to be praised, Captain, for, if he had 
come earlier, he would have shirked this scolding off 
upon somebody else ! 

I saw an old maid at the Fifth Avenue, with her 
face covered with wrinkles, turning sadly away from 
the mirror, as she said : 

Happy Thought — rlvlirrors nowadays are very faulty, 
Uncle Eli. They don't make such nice mirrors as 
they used to when I was young! 



I heard a young lady from Brooklyn praising the 
sun, so I said : 

Happy Thought — The sun may be very good, Miss 
Mead, but the moon is a good deal better ; for she 
gives us light in the night when we need it, while the 
sun only shines in the day time, when it is light 
enough without it! 

I saw a man shoot an eagle, and as he dropped on 
the ground I said : 

Happy Thought — You might have saved your pow- 
der, my man, for the fall alone would have killed him. 

An old man in Philadelphia brought a blooming girl 
to church, to be married to her. The minister stepped 
behind the baptismal font and said, as he sprinkled 
water over her head — 

Happy Thought — I am glad you brought the dear 
child to be baptized ! 

A young man was disappointed in love at Niagara 
Falls, so he went out on a terrible precipice, took off 
his clothes, cast one long look into the fearful whirl- 
pool, and then — 

Happy Thought — Went home and went to bed ! 

Two Mississippi River darkies saw, for the first time, 
a, train of cars. They were in a quandary to know what 
kind of a monster it was, so one said: 

Happy Thought — Oh, Sambo ! it is a dried up steam- 
boat getting back into the river ! 


A poor sick man, with a mustard plaster on him, 

Happy Thought — If I should eat a loaf of bread I'd 
be a live sandwich ! 

As a man was burying his wife he said to his friend, 
in the graveyard : Alas ! you feel happier than I. Yes, 
neighbor, said the friend: 

Happy Thought — I ought to feel happier, I have two 
wives buried here ! 

A man out west turned State's evidence and swore 
he was a member of a gang of thieves. By and by 
they found the roll of actual members, and accused 
the man of swearing falsely. I was a member, said the 
man ; I 

Happy Thought— -I was an honorary member! 

*■ «*gjr .<,-. 


The other night, I met a young Columbia College 
law student at a party. He was dancing with Miss 

" I have an engagement to dance the ' Railroad 
Galop ' with Miss Johnson," I remarked — " number 

" You have an engagement ? You mean you have 
retained her for a dance?" 

"She has contracted to dance with me," I said. 

" But contracts where no earnest money is paid are 
null and void. You must vacate the premises." 

" But will you please give me half of a dance ? I 
ask the courtesy." 

"Why, yes, Mr. Perkins," he said; "take her;" but, 
recollecting his law knowledge, he caught hold of my 
coat-sleeve and added this casual remark : 

" I give and bequeath to you, Mr. Eli Perkins, to 
have and to hold in trust, one half of my right, title 
and claim and my advantage, in a dance known as the 
* Railroad Galop ' with Amelia Johnson, with all her 
hair, paniers, Grecian bend, rings, fans, belts, hair-pins, 
smelling-bottles and straps, with all the right and ad- 
vantage therein ; with full power to have, hold, encircle, 
whirl, toss, wiggle, push, jam, squeeze, or otherwise use 
— except to smash, break or otherwise damage — and 



with right to temporarily convey the said Amelia John- 
son, her hair, rings, paniers, straps, and other objects 
heretofore or hereinafter mentioned, after such whirl, 
squeeze, wiggle, jam, etc., to her natural parents, now 
living, and without regard to any deed or deeds or in- 
struments, of whatever kind or nature soever, to the 
contrary in anywise notwithstanding." 

The next evening, the young lawyer called on Miss 
Johnson, with whom he was in love, and proposed. 

" I have an attachment for you, Miss Johnson," he 

"Very well, sir; levy on the furniture," said Miss 
Johnson, indignantly. 

" I mean, Miss Johnson, there is a bond — a mutual 
bond " 

" Never mind the bond ; take the furniture, I say. 
Take " 

"You do not understand me, madam. I came here 
to court " 

" But this is no court, sir. There is no officer." 

" Yes, Miss Johnson, your father said this morning : 
4 Mr. Mason, I look upon your offer, sir, with favor.'" 

"Your officer?" 

" My offer, madame — my offer of marriage. I love 
you. I adore " 

"Goodness gracious!" and Miss Johnson fell faint- 
ing to the floor* 


One day one 

of the James 
Brothers, the 
famous bandits, 
who have filled 
Missouri with 
terror for years, 
rode into Kansas 
City during the 
State Fair. 
Though a price was set upon 
his head by the Governor, and a half 
dozen of Pinkerton's men had "bit the 
dust " hunting him down, this brave 
bandit passed on through the town in 
open daylight to the place where they 
were holding the State Fair. Then, 
quietly riding through twenty thousand people, he 
walked his horse straight up to the treasurer's stand 
seized the cash-box with three thousand dollars in 
it, and rode quietly away. It was a Claude Duval 
adventure — a wild, devil- dare deed. All Kansas City 
was filled with amazement. The newspapers foamed 
and fretted about it, the Governor proclamated, and 
the mayor offered rewards, but all to no avail. The 
money nor the man ever came back again. Among 


the newspapers which were abusing the James Brothers, 
was the Kansas City Times, but one day the Times 
said : 

" It may have been robbery, but it was a plucky, brave act— 
an act which we can but admire for its splendid daring and cool, 
calculating bravado." 

A week after this article praising the James Boy's 
pluck and daring appeared in the Times, two horsemen 
rode up to the Times office at eleven o'clock at night. 
Calling a watchman, they asked him to tell the editor 
to please come out. 

" Tell him somebody wants to thank him," they 

When the editor came out on the sidewalk one of 
the horsemen beckoned him up close to his horse, 
and said, in an undertone : 

" My friend, you said a good thing about me the 
other day. You said I was brave, even if I was a 
robber. You spoke kindly of me. It was the first 
kind word I ever had said about me, and it touched 
my heart, and I've come to thank you." 

"But who are you, gentlemen? I am not aware to 
whom I am talking," said the astonished editor. 

"Well, sir, our name is James. We are the James 
Brothers " 

"For God's sake, don't kill me!" gasped the fright- 
ened editor, almost sinking in his shoes. "I haven't 
harmed you. I " 

" No, you haven't harmed us. You spoke kindly 
about us, and we came to thank you. Not only that, 
but we have come to present you this watch as a token 


of our gratitude," and the robber handed out a 
beautiful gold hunting case chronometer. 

"But I can't take the watch," remonstrated the 

" You must," replied the robber. " We bought it 
for you in St. Louis. We didn't steal this watch. 
Your name is engraved in it. See!" and he held it 
up before the street lamp. 

■' No, I cannot take it, I cannot," replied the man, 
newspaper-man-like, unable under any circumstances to 
take a seeming bribe. 

" But you must. We insist." 

"You will have to excuse me, gentlemen," pleaded 
the honest editor, "for I tell you, gentlemen, I can- 

"And you will take nothing from us?" 

"Nothing at all." 

" Then, if you can't take anything from us — not 
even this watch," said the bandit, sorrowfully return- 
ing it to his pocket — " if you won't take anything for 
our gratitude, perhaps you can name some man around 
here you want killed!" 



I met a Californian to-day who says he don't be- 
lieve Chinamen have ordinary common sense. 

" They haven't ordinary sagacity, Uncle Eli," he said. 

"Why?" I asked. 

"Because," said he, growing excited about it. "be- 
cause — b-e-c-a-u-s-e they haven't." 

"But why?" I asked. "I want to know an instance 
where a Chinaman has ever shown himself to be a 
darned fool." 

"Why, Eli, I've known a Chinaman to secrete two 
aces in his sleeves, and when I've played the three 
aces I had secreted in my sleeves, why, there'd be 
five aces out! How absurd!" 

"Yes, that was very foolish for the Chinaman, but 
what other cases of foolishness have you seen among 
the Chinamen?" I asked. 

" Why, it was only the day before I left 'Frisco, Mr. 
Perkins, that we put some tar and feathers on one of 
them Johnnys, just to have a little fun, and then set 
fire to it to amuse the children, and the darned fool 
ran into a clothes-press and spoiled a dozen of my 
wife's dresses putting out the fire, though I told him 
better all the time. Dog-on-it, it is enough to make 
a man lose faith in the whole race!" 

And then that good Californian threw a colored 
waiter out of a fourth story window and went on cut- 
ting off his coupons. 




If you see a two-hundred pound 
man and woman perspiring around 
with their pompous bodies tossing 
lightly and springily in the air, arms 
swaying — keeping good time, and 
making grand Persian salaams for a 
bow in the Lancers, you can set 
them down as belonging to the old 
Tweed-Fisk-Leland-Americus Club 

If you see two heated young people tripping fast 
away ahead of the music, taking short steps, and jerk- 
ing through a square dance as if the house was on 
fire and the set must be completed before any could 
take to the fire-escapes, you can set them down as from 
the plantation districts of the South, or the rural dis- 
tricts of Pennsylvania and the West. It is the Missis- 
sippi River steamboat quickstep. 

If you see a black-eyed youth with long hair and a 
young lady with liquid black eyes, and she has her two 
hands on the young man's shoulders at full length, and 
stands directly in front of him, and they both go hop- 
ping around like Siamese twins with wire springs under 
them, you can wager they are from Louisville, Memphis, 



or Little Rock. They have the square-hold wrestling 

If you see a young fellow grasp a young lady firmly 
around the waist, seize her wrists, stick her hand out 
like the bowsprit of a Sound yacht, and both hump up 
their backs like a pair of mad cats on a door-yard fence, 
and then go sliding slam bang against people, over 
people, through people, up and down the room, side- 
ways, backwards, and up and down like a saw-mill gate, 
you can be sure they are directly from Chicago, or from 
the region of Milwaukee or Detroit. 

If you see a couple gliding gently, slowly, and lazily 
through the Lancers — just half as fast as the time, but 
keeping step with the music — quietly sauntering through 
the " Grand Chain," too languid to whirl partners, talk- 
ing sweetly all the time, as if they were strolling in a 
graveyard, you can rest assured that they are from New 
York, and from the most fashionable section between 
Madison Square and the Park. This is the churchyard- 
saunter step. 

If you see a fellow clasp a girl meltingly in his arms, 
squeeze her hand warmly, hold her swelling breast to 
his, and they both go floating down the room locked in 
each other's embrace, looking like one person, his feet 
only now and then protruding from a profusion of illu- 
sion and lace and so on, rely upon it you can set the 
two down as belonging to the intense Boston school. 
It is the melting Harvard College embrace. 

Massachusetts, take our hat! 


The other day, I took a couple of "swell" young 
ladies up to the West Point Military Ball. Miss Grace 
Vanderbilt and Miss Mary Astor, Jack Astor's sister, 
were their names, and their dresses cost $500 apiece — 
awfully " swell " girls. 

I had a hard time chaperoning these two pretty girls. 
The cadets would get them away from me at every 
corner. I couldn't keep my eyes on them any more 
than I could have kept them on a dozen velocipedes in 
a circus tent. Finally I lost sight of Grace and Mary 
altogether. They disappeared in the mazes of the 
dance like small boats in a fog. Now and then I would 
see them waltzing toward me, and then before I could 
speak to them their long trains would hop around and 
wriggle out of sight. In vain — loaded down with 
camel's hairs and opera-cloaks — I searched for them 
through the reception-rooms and along the flag-draped 
corridors. At length I found Grace dancing the Ger- 
man three blocks from the main ball-room, while Mary 
was flirting desperately with a cadet graduate in the 
rooms of the Spoonological Museum. That is what 
they call the Natural History rooms, into which steal 
flirting cadets and sentimental young ladies, where they 
can listen to the oft-repeated tales of love and hope. 
Here in the half-light the cadet, with one hand on a 


aatinon and the other on a bunch of Indian arrows or 
the jawbone of a whale, will tell the unsuspecting 
young lady how he loves her better than war or gun- 
powder or geometry. And all the time Mary's unsus- 
pecting mamma imagines her beautiful daughter to be 
innocently walking backwards and forwards in the 

" What was Cadet Mason saying to you in the 
Spoonological Museum by the Rodman gun, Mary?" 
I asked, as we came back from the Point on the 
Chauncey Vibbard. 

"Well, he talked very interesting — he — proposed," 
replied Miss Mary, blushing. 

" How proposed ?" I asked. 

"Why, he said he loved me and wanted me to be 
engaged to him." 

"And you ?" 

"Why, I told him to ask father, and " 

"And he ?" 

"Why, he said he wasn't really in earnest. He 
a/iemed, and said he didn't really mean anything seri- 
ous. Then he took my hand and said, ' Why, really, 
Miss Astor, I don't want to ask your papa.' 

What do you mean then, Mr. Mason ?' I asked. 
Why, Miss Astor,' he said, ' I only meant to ex- 
tend to you the regular and customary courtesies of 
the Point !' 

"The miserable, flirting cadet!" And Miss Mary's 
eyes flashed as she said it. 

a < 
u i 


One morning the Rev. Dr. Corey, my uncle Con- 
sider, and another good old Baptist minister, were 
sitting on the balcony in Saratoga, talking theology. 

Dr. Corey, who always has an eye for a nice horse, 
was watching a couple of spans of trotting horses while 
his brother minister was moralizing over the sins of 
this gay and fashionable world. 

" Alas, these are degenerate days, Dr. Corey ! very 
fast days!" sighed Dr. Deems as he bowed his head 
and looked at a tract which he held in his hand. 

"Yes, pretty fast, Dr. Deems — fast for such young 
horses and such a heavy road," replied Dr. Corey, 
whose worldly eyes were on the horses. 

Just as two spans danced by with light Brewster 
buggies, followed by the swellest dog-cart tandem in 
Saratoga, Dr. Deems heaved a sigh and remarked 

"Yes, brother Corey, alas! we live in a very fast 

"Very fast, brother Deems," replied Dr. Corey, taking 
off his eye-glasses, "very f-a-s-t, but I'll bet ten dollars 
that I've got a span of fast mares in New York that 
can 'dust' anything you see here, except the Commo- 

Brother Deems merely dropped his head upon his 
hands, and drew a sigh which could come only from 
a crushed and broken heart. 



A pious old Kentucky deacon — Deacon Shelby — 
was famous as a shrewd horse dealer. One day farmer 
Jones went over to Bourbon County, taking his black 
boy Jim with him, to trade horses with brother Shelby. 
After a good deal of dickering, they finally made the 
trade, and Jim rode the new horse home. 

"Whose horse is that, Jim?" asked some of the 
horse-trading deacon's neighbors as Jim rode past. 

"Massa Jones's, sah." 

" What ! did Jones trade horses with Deacon Shel- 

"Yes, massa dun traded wid de deakin." 

"Goodness, Jim! wasn't your master afraid the dea- 
con would get the best of him in the trade?" 

"Oh no!" replied Jim, as his eyes glistened with a 
new intelligence, " Massa knowed how Deakin Shelby 
has dun got kinder pious lately, and he was on his 
guard! " 





Westward, westward, 
westward we have been 
riding all day over the 
Kansas Pacific. From 
Kansas City the road runs 
straight up the Kansas 
River bottom and along 
Smoky Hill and the buffalo 
country to Denver. On the train are grangers from 
Carson and Hugo, and killers and stabbers from Wild 
Horse and Eagle Tail. 

As we near Salina, Kansas, Conductor Cheeney 
comes along to collect the fare. Touching a long- 
haired miner on the back, he looks down and says, 

"Hain't got none," says the frontiersman, holding 
his gun with one hand and scowling out from under 
his black slouch hat. 

"But you must pay your fare, sir!" expostulated 
the conductor. 

"Now jes look a-here, stranger; mebbe you're a 
doin' your duty, but I hain't never paid yet goin' 

through this country, and " 

Just then a slouchy old frontiersman, who had been 
compelled to pay his fare in a rear car, stepped up in 
front of the mulish passenger, and pointing a six- 
shooter at him, said: 


"See here, Long Bill, you jes pay yer fare! I've 
paid mine, and they don't anybody ride on this train 
free if I don't — if they do, damme!" 

"All right, you've got the drop on me, pardner, so 
put up your shooter an' I'll settle," said the miner, 
going into his pocket for the money. 

" Do these incidents often happen ?" I asked the 
conductor a little while afterward. 

"Well, yes, but not so often as they used to in 1868 
and 1870, Mr. Perkins. The other day," continued 
the conductor, " some three-card-monte men came on 
the train and swindled a drover out of $150. The 
poor man seemed to take it to heart. He said his 
cattle got so cheap during the grasshopper raid that 
he had to just ' peel 'em' and sell their hides in Kansas 
City — and this was all the money he had. A half- 
dozen miners from Denver overheard the talk, and, 
coming up, they i drew a bead' on the monte men and 
told 'em to pay that money back. 

"'Just you count that money back, conductor,' they 
said, and after I had done it," continued the con- 
ductor, " one of the head miners said : 

" * Now, pardner, you jes stop this train, an' we'll 
hang these three-card fellows to the telegraph pole.' 1 

"Did they do it?" I asked. 

"Well, they hung one of 'em; but the other two, 
dog on it, got lost in the grass." 

"But wa'n't there h — 1 to pay on that train when 
we got to Muncie, though," said Cheney. 

"How?" I asked. 

" Why, six masked men stopped the train and robbed 


the express car. One man uncoupled the engine and 
ran it forward — two men went through the express 
safe and three men went through the passengers. But 
O ! didn't they play hell, though. Wa'n't it a glorious 

"Did they rob anybody? did " 

" No, they didn't zackly rob 'em, but they frightened 
'em almost to death and then laughed at 'em. They'd 
stick their blunderbusses in the car windows and shout 
'Throw up your hands!' to the passengers, and their 
hands would go up like pump handles. 

The Rev. Winfield Scott, a devilish good old min- 
ister from Denver, was takin' a quiet game of poker 
with another passenger at the time. He had just got 
four queens and was raisin' the ante to fifteen dollars 
when one of the robbers pointed his pistol at him and 
sang out: 

"'Hold up your 
hands! or I'll blow your 
head off!' 

" ' No, you wont,' says 
Parson Scott, standing 
up in his seat — 'not by 
a danged sight ! I've been a 
preacher of the gospel goin' on 
twenty years, and I'm ready to die 
in the harness, and I will die, and 
any man can shoot me and be danged before I'll throw 
up such a hand as that — two trays and four queens ! 


> »> 


General Grant has been sending a good many 
Philadelphia Quakers to the Indian Nations as agents. 
Recently a party of Quaker commissioners returned to 
Philadelphia on a visit. 

The "Broad Brims" landed, carpet-bag in hand, at 
West Philadelphia, when an Irish hack-driver, who 
chanced to have a broad-brim also, stepped up, and 
to ingratiate himself into their good graces, passed 
himself off as a brother Quaker. 

" Is thee going towards the Continental Hotel ?" 
asked the hack-driver. 

" Yea, our residences are near there," replied the 

" Will thee take my carriage ?" 

"Yea— gladly." 

As they seated themselves, the hack-driver asked 
very seriously — 

"Where is thou's baggage?" 



The other day, Uncle Consider and Aunt Patience 
came down to Nc w York to trade. Uncle said he'd go 
and buy some jewelry — a black emanuel buzzum-pin 
and some antic ear-rings — for the girls, and an onion 
seed-sower for the farm; while Aunt Patience went 
looking about for a sewing-machine. 

After a while Uncle Consider, in his meandering 
down Broadway, stumbled into Wilcox & Gibbs's 
sewing-machine show-rooms. He saw so many little 
machines, and pamphlets, and nice cases around, that 
he took it for an agricultural warehouse. 

As the old man entered the store, the polite Mr. 
Hankey, who always shakes hands with all new cus- 
tomers, advanced to meet him, saying : 

" Good-morning, sir. Can I show you a sew " 

" Good-mornin','' interrupted Uncle Consider, grasp- 
ing Mr. Hankey's hand. " How d' do ? I kum into 
buy — this is a machine store, ain't it ?" 

" Yes, sir, this is Wilcox & Gibbs's ; we sell the best 
machines ' 

" Well, Mr. Gilcox & Wibbs, I want to buy a sower — 
one that will sow all kinds of little truck — a machine 
that will sow cotton, will sow " 

" Yes, sir ; our machines will sew anything in the 
world, and gather, and tuck, and ruffle, and fell, and 



hem, and puff; and we send a binder and a feller with 
it — fifty-six dollars, sir, for the plain machine, and " 

"You say it will bind as well as sow?" 

" Certainly, sir ; bind anything in the world." 

"And gather, too?" 

"Anything, sir." 

"And sow anything we may have to sow on the 
farm?" asked Uncle Consider in amazement. 

"Sew anything and everything, as straight as a 
clothes-line," replied Mr. Hankey. 

"And you sell 'em for fifty-six dollars?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, Mr. Gibcox & Wills, then you jes send me up 
one of them thar machines that will sow onions, bind 
buckwheat, and gather apples," said the old man, un- 
rolling his leather wallet and laying six ten-dollar bills 
on the counter. 


In Akron, Ohio, where they have the personal dam- 
age temperance law, I heard of a funny temperance 
case. A rumseller, whom I will call Hi Church, be- 
cause he was "high " most of the time, had been sued 
several times for damage done by his rum on citizens 
of the town. One man came out drunk and smashed 
in a big glass window. He was too poor to pay for it, 
and the owner came against Church. A boy about six- 
teen got drunk and let a horse run away with him, 
breaking his arm. His father made Church pay the 
damage. A mechanic got drunk and was killed on the 
railroad track, and his wife sued Church for $2,000 
and got it. A farmer got drunk and was burned in 
his barn on the hay. His son sued Church and recov- 
ered $1800. Church got sick of paying out so much 
money for personal and property damages. It ate up 
all the rumseller's profits. 

Still, he acknowledged the law to be a statute, and 
that it held him responsible for all the damage done 
by his rum. He used to argue, also, that sometimes his 
rum did people good, and then he said he ought to re- 
ceive something back. 

One day lawyer Thompson got to drinking. Thomp- 
son was mean, like most all lawyers, and when he died 
of the delirium tremens there wasn't much mourning in 



Akron. There wasn't anybody who cared enough for 
Thompson to sue Church for damage done. So, one 
day, Church went before the Court himself. 

" What does Mr. Church want ?" asked the justice. 

" I tell yer what, Jedge," commenced the rumseller, 
" when my rum killed that thar mechanic Johnson and 
farmer Mason, I cum down like a man. I paid the dam- 
age and squared up like a Christian — now, didn't I, 
Jedge ?" 

" Yes, you paid the damage, Mr. Church ; but what 
then ?" 

" Well, Jedge, my rum did a good deal to'ards killin' 
lawyer Thompson, now, and it 'pears ter me when I kill 
a lawyer I kinder oughter get a rebate!" 



Attorney at Law. 

I am now ready to commence 
the practice of law in New York. 
I've been reading New York law 
for two weeks — night and day. 
I find all law is based on prece- 
dents. Whenever a client comes 
to me and tells me he has 
committed a great crime, I take 
down the precedent and tell him 
what will become of him if he 
don't run away. 

In cases where clients contem- 
plate great crimes, I tell them beforehand what will be 
the penalty if they don't buy a juryman. 

Yesterday a man came to me and said he wanted 
to knock Mayor Hall's teeth down his throat. "What 
will be the penalty, Mr. Perkins?" he asked. 

"Are they false teeth or real teeth?" I inquired. 
"False, I think, sir." 

" Then don't do it, sir. False teeth are personal 
property; but if they are real, knock away. These 
are the precedents:" 


A fellow on Third avenue 
borrowed a set of false teeth 
from the show case of a dentist, 
and he was sent to Sing Sing for 
four years. 


Another fellow knocked a 
man's real teeth down his throat, 
and Judge Barnard let him off 
with a reprimand ! 


The next day Controller Green came to me and 
wanted to knock out Mr. Chas. A. Dana's eye, because 
Mr. Dana wrote such long editorials. 

"Are they real eyes or glass eyes, Mr. Green?" I 

" One looks like glass, the other is undoubtedly real," 
said Mr. Green. 

"Then read this precedent and go for the real 


Making off with a man's glass 
eye — two years in Sing Sing. 

Tearing out a man's real eye — 
a fine of $5. 

In cases of legs I find these precedents : 

Stealing a man's crutch — two 
years in the Penitentiary. 

Breaking a man's leg — a fine 
of $10. 

So I advise clients to go for real eyes and real legs. 


I conclude — I conclude — 

Damage to a man's property — Damage to or destruction of a 

the Penitentiary and severest pen- man's life — acquittal or a recom- 

alty which the law admits. mendation to mercy. 

Now I am ready to practice. I prefer murder or 

manslaughter cases, as they are the simplest. If you 

want to shoot a man come and see me, and I'll 

make a bargain with the judge and jury, and get you 

bail beforehand. 




OF consider's NEPHEW. 

I shall never forget how Donn Pirate, a District 
of Columbia brigand, and I fell out and had a big 
fight. I shall also long remember the terrible thrash- 
ing he gave me. I knew I had been whipped by Donn 
because I saw the marks on Donn's face and also 
talked with the doctor who sponged him off and put 
liniment on him. But oh, it was a fearful castigation ! 
I never want to be whipped again. If ever any man 
wants to continue to serve humanity — wants to make 
a martyr of himself — wants to reduce himself to a 
lump of jelly like the boneless man in the circus, by 
whipping me, I hope he will read this and reflect. 

This is the way Donn came to thrash me. I tell it 
to our sorrow. You see, Donn had been saying how 
I had stolen some literary thunder out of his Capitol. 
I informed him politely how he had lied, and insinu- 
ated that he was a d f , such as they have a 

good many of in the District of Columbia. 

This roused Donn's patriotism, and yesterday he 
called at my rooms to thrash me. I was never so af- 
fected in my life as when I saw him coming up the 



long dark stairs. And when I smelled his breath I 
was thrown into hysterics. I was so badly frightened 
that I didn't know what to do. I seized my cane and 
commenced dancing wildly around the room. Every 
now and then I would let it drop on somebody. 

" Please be quiet, Mr. Perkins — calm yourself," said 
Mr. Pirate, who seemed to sympathize with me in my 
extreme agitation. 

But, like John Phoenix when he thrashed Judge 
Ames, I couldn't keep quiet. My cane continued to 
fly around in such a wild manner that Donn really 
pitied me. He didn't feel like going on with the 
thrashing at all. But all at once he made a lurch 
with both legs towards the stairs, frightening me ter- 
ribly. Then he dragged me down the steps by the 
hair of his head, which stuck to my trembling hands. 
I was so frightened that I fell down on top of him. 
Then he shook me up and down in the most savage 
manner by my poor hands, which were fastened tightly 
to his coat-collar. All the time I was so scared that 
my cane trembled violently in the air, and it would 
have been smashed to pieces a dozen times had not 
Mr. Pirate's head softened the blows on the pavement. 
Thus this infuriated man continued to thrash me until 
he became unconscious. Then the police came and 
took his hair out of my hands, released me, and car- 
ried him home on a stretcher. 

I shall never recover from that terrible fright. Even 
this morning I began to be nervously affected again 
when I saw this bloodthirsty man. My cane began 
trembling in the air. But Donn seemed to feel sorry 


for me — "so sorry," he said, "that he didn't have the 
heart to thrash me any more." 

To show how this whipping occurred, I append a 
map drawn by the new Heliotype process after William 
Hogarth : 







E E 


E E 


E E 


E E 


E E 


E E 

C D 



E E 

E D 


E E 



E E 











D D D D 

E E 

D D D D 

E E 

D D 



D D 



D D 













D represents Donn. 
E represents Eli. 
C represents Cane. 

Yours truly, "Eli Perkins." 

P. S. — I send you my original poem by Artemus 
Ward and John Phoenix on my truthful and high-toned 


friend Donnel Pirate, the only licensed court-jester now 
living : 


Once on a time it came to pass, 

As Donn Pirate was lying 
Asleep in bed, he had a dream 

And cried, " I'm dying — dying !" 


But when they woke the lying Donn, 

He said, " I'm only cheating 
The grave of my poor sinful soul 

And th' Devil of a happy meeting." 


So when they found in Washington, 

Alas ! that Donn was stealing 
A march on Satan and his imps, 

Their grief 'twas hard concealing. 

E. P. 




What do the " swells " do in Sar- 
atoga ? 

Well, at eight A. M. they appear 
on the hotel balcony. He is dressed 
in soft hat, with feather, and English 
cut-away coat ; she in Leghorn hat, 
cocked up with plume. She carries 
a pongee parasol, bound with black »* 
lace, and wears a pongee redingote, 
with black lace sleeves to match her parasol. In the 
old time of Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis and Mrs. Dr. 
Rush, young ladies and poodles in hot weather both 
needed muslin ; but times have changed. 

"Aw, Miss Astor," Augustus remarks, "thwal I 
ethkort you to the Congwes spwing?" 

" Thanks, Mister de Courtney, thanks !" replies 
Miss Astor, taking his arm. 

Then they saunter to the spring, drink two glasses, 
and walk around the park. She hangs lovingly on his 
arm as she watches the squirrels and fawns, or looks 
up sweetly as she gossips confidentially about the "hor- 
rid dresses the Scroggs girls wear." Returning to the 
spring, they drink the third glass and return to the 
"States." Now they walk three times up and down 



the balcony to show their morning costumes; then 
sweep in to breakfast, where they read the Sai-atogian, 
eat Spanish mackerel, woodcock, and spring chicken, 
give the waiter a dollar, and gossip about the Jones 
girls, whose mother used to keep a boarding-house. 

"Bah! some people do put on such airs!" remarks 
Miss Astor. 

After breakfast and cigars all sit on the back bal- 
cony of the " States " to talk and " spoon " and hear 
the music. 

Time, half-past ten. Sentimental young ladies now 
" spoon " under mammoth umbrellas, with newspapers 
in front. 

" Oh, Augustus ! I am afraid somebody is watching 

"No, they kon't, yeu kneuw, Miss Mollie; but it's 
hawid to sit in such a cwowd — perfectly atwocious; 
let's walk up to the gwaveyard." 

"To see the Indians, Augustus?" 

"Oh, yes; they're jolly nice — perfectly lovely — 
splen " 

And off they go to the Indian encampment on the 

At two P. M. dinner — sweetbreads, salad, Philadel- 
phia squabs, and champagne. 

"O gracious! Augustus, aren't my cheeks red!" 

Augustus's father, after eating squabs and drinking 
champagne, sherry, and claret, remarks: 

" Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Perkins, that a plain 
liver like me could have the gout?" 

Dinner over, and all retire to balcony to smoke and 


read the papers. Sentimental young people retire to 
corners and flirt under umbrellas and twenty-inch fans, 
and Augustus reads sentimental poetry : 

You kissed me ! My soul, in a bliss so divine, 

Reeled and swooned like a foolish man drunken with wine. 

And I thought 'twere delicious to die then, if Death 

Would but come while my lips were yet moist with your breath ! 

And these are the questions I ask day and night : 

Must my life taste but one such exquisite delight? 

Would you care if your breast were my shelter as then ? 

And — if you were here — would you kiss me again ? 

Miss Astor reads : 

Why can't you be sensible, dearie ? 

I don't like men's arms on my chair. 
Be still ! if you don't stop this nonsense, 

I'll get up and leave you — so there ! 

Then the " spooniest " young people saunter over to 
the ten-spring woods or down to the double seats in 
Congress Spring Park. 

After tea the grand balcony tramp commences. 
Ladies in full dress — gros grain silks, tight to hip, long 
train, with white lace sleeves. Hair braided in short 
stem behind. Gentlemen in "swallow tails." 

" O, Augustus ! isn't this dress too sweet for any- 

" Just too lovely, Miss Astor. And ain't the mewsic 
awful jolly to-night?" 

Admiring mothers now look on and hold extra chairs. 
Rich old bachelors who own dog-carts bow, present 
bouquets, and retire. Engaged couples seclude them- 
selves in unlighted corners. 

"Yes, Augustus, we'll go to Washington on our 
bridal trip." 


At nine, children are led off to bed, mothers occupy 
long lines of chairs around the hop room, and dancing 
commences. Small talk usurps the time between the 

You fig Gentleman — Charmin' evening, Miss Astor. 

Young Lady — Yes, awful charmin' — perfectly lovely — 

Young Gentleman— Donee a squar donee to-night? 

Young Lady — Oh, Augustus ! I kon't, yeu kneuw. 
The squar donees are beastly — perfectly atwocious — 
hawible — perfectly dre'ful. Let's donee a galop. 
They're awful jolly — perfectly divine. 

Twelve P. M. — Hop over and lights out. Girls drink 
lemonade in reception room, talk about ruined dress 
skirts, and handsome fellows rush down to Morrissey's. 

" I'll make or break to-night." 

Table loaded with white and red checks, champagne 
flows, and cigar smoke fills the air, like a cherubim. 

" Gus, lend me $10?" 

"The white loses and the red wins," slowly repeats 
the dealer. 

"My God, I'm ruined!" 

After midnight — streets silent ; hotel dark. The click 
of the gamblers' checks sounds out from the gilded 
haunt of the revelers. Lizzie dreams of dresses, of 
love, of heaven — and of her dear, dear, innocent 

"Who smashed that champagne bottle into the mir- 

Then they carry Augustus home — hair over his face 
and his blue eyes bleared and blinded. 


"Oh, please keep it from father!" 

Why do I reflect ? Why do I look upon all this 
sinning and sorrowing — this verity and vanity — this 
gladness and giddiness, and see no good? Sorrow- 
fully I bow my head and say : 

We are born ; we dance ; we weep ; 

We love, we laugh — we die .' 
Ah, wherefore do we laugh or weep ? 

Why do we love — and die ? 
Who knows that secret deep ? 

Alas, not I ! 
We toil through pain and wrong ; 

We fight— and fly ; 
We love ; we lose, and then, ere long, 

Stone dead we lie ! 
O life, is all thy song, 

" Endure and die " ? 





Conversations as varied as 
the crowd greet you on every 
hand at Saratoga. Last night 
Mr. Winthrop, a young author 
from Boston, was talking to Miss 
Johnson from Oil City. Miss 
Johnson is a beautiful girl — very 
fashionable. No material expense 
is spared to make her attractive. 
She is gored and puckered to 
match her pannier, and ruffled 
and fluted and cut on the bias to MISS j°hnson. 

correspond with her overskirt, but, alas ! her literary 
knowledge is limited. 

As Mr. Winthrop was promenading up and dowu 
the balcony last night, he remarked to Miss Johnso.1 
as he opened Mr. Jenkins's English book : 

"Have you seen Ginx's Baby, Miss Johnson?" 

" Oh, Mr. Winthrop ! I think all babies are dread- 
ful — awful — perfectly atrocious ! Mrs. Ginx don't brinj 
her baby into the parlor, does she ?" 

" But how do you like Dame Europa's School, Miss 
Johnson?" continued Mr. Winthrop. 



"I don't like any school at all, Mr. Winthrop, except 
dancing school — they're dreadful — perfectly atrocious ! 
O. the divine round dances, the " 

" Have you seen the Woman in White, by Wilkie 
Collins, Miss Johnson?" 

" No, but I saw the woman in dark blue by Commo- 
dore Vanderbilt — and such a dancer — such a " 

"Did you see Napoleoii s Julius CcesarV interrupted 
Mr. Winthrop. 

"Napoleon's Julius seize her! you don't say so, Mr. 
Winthrop! Well, I don't wonder. I wanted to seize 
her myself — any one who would wear such an atrocious 
polonaise /" 

And so, aristocratic Miss Johnson went on. In every 
word she uttered I saw the superiority of the material 
over the mental — the preponderance of milliner over 
the / schoolmaster. I was glad to sit with the poor 
Boston author at the fountain of Miss Johnson's wisdom 
— to drink in a perpetual flow of soul, and to feast on 

But when a moment afterwards I saw Miss Johnson 
and empty-headed Mr. Witherington of Fifth avenue 
floating down the ball-room in the redowa, I felt that 
my early education had been neglected. 

"Alas, I cannot dance!" I sighed. "I cannot dance 
the German!" 

"O," I sighed in the anguish of my heart, "would 
that I had directed my education in other channels; 
would that I had cultivated my brain less and my heels 
more, and that books and art and architecture had 
not drawn me aside from the festive dance. Would 


that the palace of the Caesars, the Milan Cathedral, 
and the great dome of St. Paul's were in chaos ! Would 
that Dickens and John Ruskin and old Hugh Miller 
had never lived, and that the sublime coloring of Rem- 
brandt and Raphael had faded like the colors of a 

**I* *t* 4* *t» *I» «4> *t» iJf 

•J* ^» *|» •}• ^5 *j» *j» •** 

"After death comes the judgment; and what will it 
profit a man to gain the whole world and fail with 
Miss Johnson to dance the round dances?" In the 
anguish of my heart I cry aloud, " May the Lord have 
mercy on my soul and not utterly cut me off because 
I have foolishly cultivated my brain while my heels 
have rested idly in my boots." 

So I went on! 


Minnie is a type of the watering 
place belle. She is as beautiful 
as her picture, and so fascinating ! 
Below is Minnie's diary for one 
week, just as she wrote it at Sar- 




Monday. — Horribly cold. Ar- 
rived from Lake George to-day. 
Looked like a fright — know I did, 
when I got out of the omnibus. 
Wonder if the Vaughans are here. Phew ! had to walk 
through fifty men smoking on the balcony. Eight 
dresses — eight days. Know Virginia is dying to see 
them ; such lace ! Saw Bob Munson. Had same club- 
house smell as Fred. Walking wine-cellar. She kissed 
me in the hall twice. Pumped her about Dick. Didn't 
show in the parlor to-night. Will make a sensation at 
breakfast. Who is this Dick? Looks like a poke. 

Tuesday. — Bob Munson 's card before breakfast — the 
bore ! Drank four glasses. Spooned with Bob on park 
seat; afraid it won't agree with me. I do believe he 
loves me. Said so. Squeezed my hand twice. The 
idiot! I'm too happy to live. Chops and codfish, 

H 143 

*W "« 


Quaker style, for breakfast. Virginia called with Dick. 
Such a dress — gored and puffed and fluted, and the 
dear knows what ! Just saw an old flame, Albert, dear 
Albert. Bowed gracefully. Mamma frowned. Oh, 
dear ! Asked him to call. Squeezed my hand a little. 
What did he mean? Virginia's mother very sick. 
Water was too much for me. 

Wednesday. — Such an event has hap- 
pened. Dick called. Glad Virginia 
left him with me. Such a lovely waltz 
with Bob. Why don't he cut his nails ? £1 WjffiT.t* ,,. 
Horrible ! I bite mine. After waltz, 
spooned with Dick. Dick says I'm too 
sweet to live. Perfectly atrocious. "dick called." 
Dick and I think alike. He likes the moon, and I'm 
another. He's spooney and so — well, I make him be- 
lieve I am. If that mean, jealous Fanny Mason goes 
peering around again when Dick is holding my hand, 
I'll scalp her. No, I'm to be her bridesmaid. 

Thursday. — Walked to graveyard with Dick. Such 
a nice, sensible talk as we had. First, we talked about 
the soul — how destiny often binds two souls together 
by an invisible chain. Pshaw, what an old Muggins 
Bob Munson is ! Then we considered the mission of 
man and woman upon earth — how they ought to com- 
fort each other in sickness and in health. If I looked 
like that fright who wore the blue dress, I'd wear cor- 
sets. And then Dick quite startled me by asking me 
if I ever cared for any one. Wore blue grenadine cut 
on the bias to-night. Told him yes, for papa and 
mamma. Always did look lovely in grenadine. Dick 


is a darling. "I mean, Minnie, could you love me?" 
The fraud. Cut the Masons flat. 

Friday.— O dear! Rode to the lake. Bob said, 
"I'm going to have a lemonade; what will you have?" 
Just as if I could say champagne after that. Albert, 
dear Albert! Wore white muslin. Dick spooned again. 
"You look sweet enough to kiss." Mustache touched 
my face. Said he longed for a chance to talk with me 
alone. Knew the precious time had come, and Dick 
was just a-going to say it, when ma came up, with that 
dreadful old widower Thompson. O dear! Water 
disagrees with me again. Must stop it. 

"Gome, Minnie, you go with Mr. Thompson. I 
want to introduce your young friend Dick to the 
Masons." I look like a fright. Don't pay to buy six- 
buttoned gloves to spoon in. 

Dick flirted with Fanny Mason — the scarecrow! 
Wore Elizabeth ruffle four inches high. Did it to 
spite Fanny Mason. Where is Virginia ? 

Saturday. — Dick proposed. Swell clothes did the 
business. I do love lavender gloves. Virginia is cut 
out, sure. Sang " Rock me to Sleep." Fanny Mason 
said I had a cold. The meddling old wudgock ! Lav- 
ender is my color. Engaged to Dick. Gracious, I'm 
half afraid I love that fellow ! He does kiss too sweet 
for anything. Must stop drinking the water. Saw the 
educated pig. He's a boor. Mother caught Dick kiss- 
ing me. Told father. Stormed. Let out that we 
were engaged. " Then you'll go home to-morrow." O, 
dear, my fun is all over. Must stop at the Point and 

take in the cadets once more, They can't flirt. Such 


goslings ! Dick goes with us, and Virginia — she's jilt- 
ed ! Ha! Ha!! 

P. S. — Wrote a letter to Julia Mason. 


My Darling Julia : First let me tell you all about 
myself. I'm just lovely, and having such a time ! 
Flirting in Saratoga ain't like flirting in New York — 
in the horrid box at the opera, or on the atrocious stairs 
at a party. We have just the whole back balcony all 
to ourselves — and then we walk over to the graveyard, 
and pretend to go down to bowl, and stray off into 
Congress Spring Park. Then the drives ! My lovely 
phaeton — and Prancer, she's just too sweet for anything ! 
Now, the idea of calling a horse sweet! 

"How do I look?" 

Well, the best way to tell you that is to send you a 
sketch which Dick made for me. Now, you don't know 
who Dick is, I suppose. Well, Julia — now don't you 
mention it — he's — Dick is — well, I'm engaged to him! 
Dick is a brunette, you know, and I'm a blonde. He's 
poetical and I'm prosy. He's lean and I'm stout. He's 
serious and I'm giddy. He's smart and I'm — but you 
should just see his eyes once. Such eyes ! 

And such a divine mustache, Julia ! 

I know he loves me. He's told me so fifty times; 
and when I tell him I love him, he draws a long, sad 
sigh, and says : 

"I am very happy, darling; I like to be loved." 

That's all he says, but I know he loves me. 

I know you want to know how I got Dick " on the 


string," now don't you ? Well, I'll tell you. There is 

a Miss Virginia Vaughan stopping at 
the Clarendon. She's an old thing, 
and awfully cross and prudish, as alJ 
those Clarendon girls are. 

Ha, ha ! You know, Dick, he says 
the Clarendon must be an awful 
healthy place. 
"the mean thing!" " Why ?" I asked. 

" Because most all the young ladies live to such nice 
old ages there." 
Oh, the wretch ! 

If it weren't so healthy up there, O dear! a good 
many of them would have been dead years ago, wouldn't 
they ? 

Well, this Virginia Vaughan knew Dick. She, the 
mean thing, was engaged to him when they came here, 
How he could have ever fancied that cross thing, I don't 
know. My ! wouldn't she eat me up if she could — > 
wouldn't she ! 

Mother says Vaughan and my Dick look just alike. 

Well, to tell you how I first met Dick. Virginia, you 
know, was engaged to him. About a week ago she got 
a telegraph from the Masons over at Newport, saying 
her mother was sick — almost dying. Virginia had to 
go, of course. So she came to me and said she loved 
Dick, and she hated to leave him — the simpleton — and 
that as they were engaged, Dick would be quite lone- 
some without her. The little goose ! Then she asked 
me to sort of entertain Dick till she came back. Sit on 


the balcony, you know, and promenade, etc. Well, I 
did it : you may be assured I did. I played awful 
sweet on poor Richard. (" Poor Richard " is good — 
ain't it ? I mean for me.) I asked him to promenade 
in the park. We sat on that flirting seat. I said I was 
lonely. I told him it was not meet for any one to live 
all alone. Then I sighed, and let my hand fall gently 
on the book. Of course he took it — any fellow will do 
that. You know the rest. In three days he proposed 
to me — and — I — well, of course I accepted him. Of 
course I had to. 

But what a fuss we had, though ! One day I was 
sitting on that seat alone, reading and waiting for Dick. 
I knew he was coming — of course I did. Pretty soon 
I heard some one stealing up behind me. I was sure 
it was Dick, but I pretended not to notice him. Pretty 
soon he came close up, and gave me a kiss, smack on 
my neck. 

"Oh, Dick] how could you, darling?" I cried, when, 
looking up — good gracious ! what do you think ? Why, 
it wa'n't Dick at all. It was that mean, old, poky, 
cross Virginia Vaughan ! 

Of course she made a fuss about it, and broke off 
the engagement, and all that ; but I don't care. Dick 
is mine now ; and they say the silly thing has actually 
put on mourning ! 

Did you ever? 

Well, Vaughan (we girls don't call her Virginia any 
more) has got some other beaux now. She's got old 
gray-headed Munson, of the Jockey Club. 

Old Munson drives a Brewster dog-cart, with a tiger 


behind ; and such swell English clothes ! Then there 
is a real nice club-house smell about him all the time, 
like dried champagne and cigar-smoke. Dick says all 
these club men smell like a dried bar. 

There, pa is coming. 

The dear, good old pa ! I'm going right straight to 
him and tell him about Dick, get him to say "yes," 
and then tease him out of such a trousseau ! Dia- 
monds, laces, silver, six bridesmaids, honeymoon, and — 
goodness ! — I wonder if Dick will want to do like those 
Union Club fellows — go off and spend the entire 
honeymoon with the fellows, and leave me at home! 
Such things are dreadful. Oh, dear ! 

But, darling, I must close. Let's see, what have I 
written about ? Next time I'll tell you about myself. 
By-by ! You old darling ! Minnie. 

Saratoga, July 23. 



Saratoga, July 18. 

Yes, married Brown's Boys. You will see them in 
every large city and at every watering-place — men mar- 
ried to suffering, neglected wives, but flirting with 
scores of young ladies. 

Yesterday a young lady, Miss Ida , at the 

United States Hotel, received a letter from one of these 
married Browns' Boy flirts at the Clarendon. Miss Ida 
carried the letter all day, and accidentally dropped it 
in the ball-room last night. The writer is a handsome 
man, the husband of a devoted wife, and the father 
of beautiful children, and this, alas! is the heartless 
letter which he writes to one of our young ladies to- 
day : 

Clarendon, July to. 
My own darling : 

I will try and see you to-night in the piano corner 
of the big parlor — at eight. Manage to be there with 

Lizzie and Charley, for they are 
spooney and we can "shake" them, 
and they will take it as a kindness. 
I send you my photograph. How 
do you like it? Do send me yours. 
You are in my mind constantly — 
day and night. You say you " don't 
think I can be true to you and 




have a wife at the Clarendon." Have I not told 
you, dearest, that I have no wife? To be sure, we 
are married, but she is not my wife. I do not love 
her as I love you. She belonged to a very rich 
family, and had a good deal of property — Boulevard 
lots. She laid no claim to being aristocratic. My 
family were aristocratic. There is no better blood in 
the Knickerbocker Club than he has who has so 
often confessed his love to you. She married me for 
my aristocratic connections, and I married her, alas ! 
I am ashamed to confess it, for her great wealth. We 
are married, but not mated. Then, after she nursed 
me through a long spell of sickness, she looked hag- 
gard and worn. Then I told her I could not love 
her unless she looked fresh and beautiful. She looked 
sad at this, and turned her head aWay. Foolish woman. 
Then I resolved to get a divorce. This was before 
I saw you, my dear, sweet girl — before Miss S. pre- 
sented us at the last ball. Didn't we have a sweet 
time? Then, when we rode over to the lake, and 
sauntered out along the willow banks, Mrs. C. thought 
I was at the races. That night I loved you so wildly 
that I had a fearful headache. I knew it was that. 
I threw myself on my bed at the Clarendon. Mrs. C. 
insisted on bathing my head with camphor. She said 
the races were too much for me. I tossed and rolled in 
a delirium for hours, and then finally went to sleep. In 
my sleep I dreamed of you, my dear Ida. I called your 
name aloud several times — then I awoke. It was three 
o'clock, but Mrs. C, haggard and worn, was still sitting 
over me. When I cried your name, dear Ida, she said : 


"Why, darling, have you forgotten my name? My 
name is not Ida." 

How stupid ! In the morning I gave her a scolding 
for making a fool of herself. She looked so forlorn 
after this that I told her to stay in her room, and I 
came down and spent that happy evening with you. 

In one of your notes, dear Ida, you say your papa 
asked you if I was not married, and that you blushed 
and said " Of course not." That's right. I never take 
out Mrs. C, and no one knows that we are married 
but our intimate friends. 

I shall soon have a divorce, 
when I will let her go with a 
dowry. It is quite funny to 
think that the very money 
which I propose to pay her 
dowry with, she herself gave me 
when we were married. But if 
I give her a small dowry, then 
we will have enough to keep 
our carriage and live hand- 
somely. Won't we, pet? You 
say, darling, that you could 
never be happy without a carriage. Well, you shall 
have one, if I have to sell Minnie's diamonds to buy 
it. Minnie won't want diamonds when she is living 
on a dowry. 

You ask me how I became acquainted with Minnie ? 

Well, it's a funny story. We first met at Newport. 

Her father came up with the Vintons — coach and four. 

Minnie was beautiful then. She had golden hair and 

"how do you like it?' 


great brown eyes, like you, pet, and an arm as plump 
and white as Lizzie's; but she has worried herself so 
about me when I've had neuralgia and headache after 
big dinners at the Club, that she's only a shadow 

Well, as I was saying, we were at Newport together. 
One day we were out rowing — clear out by the light- 
house. I stood up in the boat to light a cigar — a gust 
came and over I went into the surf. I thought I was 
done for, and I did sink twice, but the third time 
Minnie rowed the boat up to me, caught hold of my 
clothes, and held me till some men put out from the 
shore. I ought to be very grateful to Minnie — and I 
am. I'm going to allow her a large dowry — for her — 
$1,500 a year, and we'll take care of Freddy ourselves, 
won't we? I suppose she will want Freddy — all moth- 
ers are foolish about their children; but he's a boy, 
and of course I can take him. Then he won't bore us 
much, as we can trudge him off to boarding-school. 

Now, my darling Ida, you see how much I love you. 
So keep this evening for me and all the round dances 
on your card. Those United States fellows wouldn't 
make such a sacrifice for you as I would — would 
they? Tell your father that I'm a vestryman in Dr. 
Morgan's church. I'm not, you know, but they did 
speak to me about it once, and it's the same thing. 

With kisses and love, dear Ida, I am all thine till I 
see you. 

J. C. F. 

P. S. — Of course this note is all entre nous. 

j — • 


To-night I watched for J. C. F. Sure enough, Miss 
Ida sat waiting for him in the piano corner. In a 
moment they "shook" Lizzie and Charley, and went 
off on the back balcony, where the lights are few and 
dim. There they are now — now as I write. I can 
see their shadows drawn out on the floor, but, alas! 
they are not two shadows, but one. They must be 
sitting very close together. 

This, alas, is love — Saratoga love. This is new- 
dispensation love. This is round dance, dog cart, 
tandem, panier love. This is not the old-fashioned 
love of Ruth and Boaz nor the foolish sentiment of 
Dante and Beatrice. This is the pure and sublime 
passion engendered by the new civilization — the civili- 
zation of divorce trials, faro banks, horse races, and 
round dances. The old love of our fathers was old- 
fashioned and primitive. The new love must come 
through wives divorced, through six-carat solitaires and 
in a gilded tandem drag with coachmen in gold- 
spangled liveries. Honor, bravery, learning ! Bah ! 
Take away your Socrates and give me the new Phil- 
osopher with his coachmen in top-boots. Why serve 
seven years for a woman's love, like miserable Jacob, 
caught in the snares of Rachel, when you can marry 
a fortune, divorce your wife with a $1,500 dowry, and 
carry off your new sweetheart in two weeks at New- 
port and Saratoga ? We all take to the new panier- 
dog-cart love. We all throw away the plain gold ring 
for the sparkling solitaire. Did not Martin Luther go 
back on Rome and St. Peter — his first love — for the 
pretty girl of Nuremburg? 


There she goes — the old belle — and thus we sum 
her up: Nine gallons of inflated pannier, 176 yards 
of muslin in trailing underskirts, $48 worth of wig, $$6 
worth of dangling smelling-bottles, fans, card-cases, 
and straps; 196 yards of gros grain silk, some cotton, 
one box of pearl powder; $72 worth of teeth on gutta 
percha; six-button gloves, mammoth umbrella, copy of 
Edmund Yates's book — and all hanging on the arm of 
something intended to represent a man — a sort of ama- 
teur gentleman. 

Saxe says : 

Hark to the music of her borrowed tone ; 
Observe the blush that purchase makes her own ; 
See the sweet smile that sheds its beaming rays, 
False as the bosom where her diamonds blaze. 

And sorrowfully my cousin Peleg wails this verse: 

See how the changes of her walk reveal 
The patent instep and the patent heel ; 
Her patent pannier rounds her form divine, 
Its patent arch supports her patent spine, 
Lends matchless symmetry and stylish gait, 
And bears the label, " Patent — '68." 
A patent corset holds her flimsy form, 
And patent dress-pads keep her bosom warm. 
Behold the plaintive glance of patent eyes, 
As she lifts her patent eyebrows in surprise. 
She shakes her head — four pecks of patent hair 
Fly like a hop-yard in the August air, 



And twenty grim ghosts whisper her aside, 
" Dear Sylph ! we wore that wig before we died." 
To whom respondeth, unabashed, the beauty, 
Git out, you spooks ! I guess I know my jute-y" 
How gnash her patent teeth with gutta percha ire, 
And flash her patent eyes with belladonna fire 1 
As drops her patent chignon in a chair, 
She jumps to pick it up 

But I forbear. 




Saratoga, July %th. 
Yesterday a remarkable 
case of misplaced confidence 
came out up at the aristocratic 
United States. 

A kind old millionaire fath- 
er was staying there with two 
daughters. He was said to 
be very wealthy. He himself 
talks of putting $500,000 into 
a national bank. Under the 
circumstances, of course the 
Brown's Boys have been very sweet on the eldest young 
lady. They (and one especially) have been always on 
hand with bouquets and bon-bons. Absolute devotion 
are no words to express this young man's polite atten- 
tion. Thus the thing has been going on for a week. 
All at once yesterday the most devoted young man fell 
off. He looked pale and excited. Then he gave up 
his aristocratic room at the States, and took cheap 
rooms at Congress Hall. Here he looked the picture 
of discouragement. 

Meeting him this morning I asked him what was the 

Why, EU," said he, as he heaved a great sigh, "I've 



been devoted to Miss K for a whole week ; we've 

been over to eat black bass at Meyers's ; we've bowled 
and breakfasted at Moon's, and I don't know what 
we haven't done." 

"Well, Gus, what of that?" I asked. 

"Nothing, only I've been fooled — deceived. You 
know Miss K 's father is rich?" 

"Yes — a millionaire." 

"And I've been devoted to her for a week?" 

"Yes, I've noticed it." 

" Spent lots of money on her for bouquets and drives, 
and " 

"And what, Gus, w-h-a-t?" 

"Why, Will Clark knows the family. He was grooms- 
man at the old fellow's first daughter's wedding." 

"Was it a big one?" I asked. 

"Yes, a swell affair on Madison avenue. But when 
the poor young husband went to get into the carriage 
to start on his bridal tour, the old tight-fisted drome- 
dary of a father-in-law gave his bride-daughter — how 
much do you think?" 

"Why, I suppose a check for $20,000, Gus." 

" A check for $20,000 ! Thunderation ! The tight- 
fisted old fool handed her a $10 bill, and Will Clark 
says he'll be blessed if he has ever given her a penny 
since ; and here I've been wasting bouquets and a 
whole week's time on the second daughter, and " 

And then Gus chewed the end of his cigar violently, 
and wiped the cold drops of perspiration from his 
forehead. He was a broken-hearted victim of mis- 
placed confidence^ 


I told him to cheer up. I told him that he was like 
all of us — that it goes against the reason of a young 
man nowadays to take an old man's extravagant daugh- 
ter for nothing. I told him that once we had visions 
of supporting our fathers-in-law — of giving them large 
sums of money; but now, alas! things have changed, 
and fathers who deceive us, as you have just been 
deceived, ought not to be allowed to run at large. 
They should be instantly arrested. They are confi- 
dence men — stumbling blocks and snares in the pathway 
of innocent, confiding young men. 

"Alas, Eli!" he sighed, as the big tears rolled down 
his cheeks, "when will we poor innocent young men 
cease to be deceived by our sweethearts' fathers ? 
There ain't any more honest love. It is all planning 
and plotting, lying and conspiracy, Eli. The old 
women lie, and say the girls have large fortunes. Old 
men talk to unsuspecting young men about establish- 
ing $500,000 banks. Brothers lie and say their sisters 
have large expectations, and the girls — even the girls, 
Eli — why, they lie their heads on some sweet Albert's 
shoulder down in New York and then come up here 
and make believe they are not engaged. They take 
our bouquets and bon-bons, and then, alas ! they let 
us slide down the pathway of life alone. 

Somebody should be arrested ! 


Colonel Alexander, the venerable President of the 
Equitable Insurance Company, while in Saratoga always 
keeps his pockets full of silver pieces. He keeps a 
pocketful of dimes and quarters for the waiters. He 
has found that the darky boys are ten times as de- 
lighted at the sight of a silver quarter as they are at a 
piece of soiled fractional currency, and that they will 
run just ten times as far for it, and bring just ten times 
as good a dinner. As the Colonel hands the pieces 
out, he always whispers slyly: 

"There, that is for 'snuff,' my boy;" and all the 
boys have had Colonel Alexander's "snuff" said to 
them so many times that they are all ready to grin and 
drop the quarter in their pockets as the silver piece 
falls and " snuff " is uttered. 

Well, last night, the Colonel rang his bell about 
twelve o'clock for some ice-water. In a moment, the 
darky was on hand with a pitcher. As he set it down, 
the Colonel tipped forward very ominously in his robe 
de nuity and handed the boy a couple of bright silver 

"There, my boy, that's for snuff, you know," said 
he, as he dropped the shiny pieces into the somber 
palm. Then the door closed, and Colonel A. went to 



About one o'clock he was awakened by a loud knock 
at his door, and then another. 

Rat! tat! tat! 

"Who's there?" shouted the Colonel from his bed. 

It was the waiter, who, not understanding Col. Alex- 
ander's snuff dodge, was pounding at the door with a 
bladder of maccaboy in his hand. 

"Good gracious!" said the Colonel, as he rubbed 
his eyes and opened the door. " What in thunder do 
you want?" 

"It's me, sah," said the faithful darky. 

"And what do you want, 'round knocking at doors 
two o'clock in the morning ? What in goodness' 
name ?" 

"But, sah, I is come wid de snuff!" 

" The what, man ?" asked the astonished Colonel. 

" De snuff, sah ; and dis is de best I could do, foh 
de peoples is all done gone to bed, and de 'backer 
shop is all done shut up. Sarten, sah, dis is all- de 
snuff to be had, fer I'se perpendickler to inquiah evy 
wha, sah." 

"O dear, this is the worst!" sighed the Colonel, and 
then the ladies, who were listening to the dialogue over 
the transept, say they heard the disconsolate man drop 
heavily on his pillow and sigh as if his great, good old 
heart were broken. 


One day I saw a pretty young lady from Brooklyn 
flirting in a Saratoga parlor. She was reported to be 
an heiress, and of course had hosts of admirers. There 
seemed to be a good deal of strife among the young 
gentlemen as to who should absorb this pretty heiress. 

That day a handsome New York fellow got hold of 
her early in the morning, and it seemed as if he would 
keep her away from all the rest of her admirers for the 
rest of the day. He must have " buzzed " her for an 
hour steady — at least until a young Chicago fellow 
thought he never would go. He despaired of getting a 
word in edgeways — this Chicago man did. If he had 
known the New York fellow he would have been 
tempted to join in the conversation and sat him out, 
but the young lady seemed to like the New York 
fellow and was bound to let him have his way clear 
to the end. This made it all the worse for the Chi- 
cago gentleman. 

Well, how did the Chicago fellow manage it ? 

Why, he simply walked around behind the New York 
fellow, and remarked to a friend, just loud enough for 
the enraptured lover to hear it : 

" John, that feller wouldn't sit there talking so sweet 
if he knew what a fearful rent there was in the back of 
his coat, would h§?" 


The New York fellow overheard the remark. His look 
of interest cooled in a moment. Then he worked his 
back around towards the wall, as if he was trying to 
conceal something. He imagined ten thousand people 
were looking at him. He didn't lean forward and look 
sweetly into the young lady's eyes any more. He put 
his hand convulsively around towards his back, a/iemed ! 
a few times in a business-like way, looked red in the 
face, and then said : 

" Excuse me, Miss Mollie, but I have an engagement 
with a friend. You'll excuse me a moment, won't you ?" 
and then he shied off towards the elevator with his 
face to the young lady. He didn't walk straight, but 
worked himself along sideways, keeping his back 
towards the wall, and then disappeared up the Otis 
elevator, just as the young fellow from Chicago sat 
down by the young lady and commenced his version of 
the oft-repeated tale of love and hope. 

Are such things right ? 


It is with sorrow that I am compelled to chronicle 
the fall of another clergyman, and that, too, in Saratoga. 
The unfortunate man is the Rev. Dr. Corey, who has 
been, with Dr. Deems, for many years the spiritualistic 
co-adviser of Commodore Vanderbilt We all know that 
for many years Dr. Corey has driven fast horses with 
the Commodore, but his friends were not prepared to 
hear of his fall like a good many other clergymen, 
through the influence of woman. 

The scandalous story being told by Dr. Corey's 
brother clergymen at the "States" to-day, is as follows: 
For several weeks Dr. Corey has been noticed at inter- 
vals to be engaged in talking with, a beautiful young 
lady on the balcony. No other strange conduct was 
noticed, and nothing serious has been thought of the 
matter till to-day, when the full particulars of the cler- 
gyman's fall became known. It seems that last evening 
about dusk the doctor was seen talking still more 
earnestly with the same young lady, when another 
young lady, a friend of the first, hurriedly joined the 
two. Both young ladies are highly connected, but 
their names are withheld from the public for the pres- 
ent. As the second lady appeared, words ensued, and 
Dr. Corey seemed to be surprised about something. 

Stepping back a moment toward the edge of the bal- 



cony, his foot slipped, and the unfortunate clergyman 
fell over the edge and down into a water-sprinkler, 
totally ruining the sprinkler, and tearing a fearful rent 
in his Gersh Lockwood pantaloons. Before the doc- 
tor's fall became publicly known, he fled to New York, 
where he is now keeping his room while his family 
tailor is trying to patch up the difficulty and mend the 
unfortunate affair. 


The Seventh Regiment went 
to Boston on the 18th of June 
to attend the Bunker Hill Cen- 
tennial with the swell 5 th Mary- 
land. The Regiment encamped 
on the Common — right in front 
of the aristocratic Beacon street 
brown stone residences. All 
the pretty girls in Boston 
came down to Beacon 
street to board that 
week, and then such 
dancing and talking 
and flirting as went 

Of course, 
every thin g 
was done in a 
polite and cir- 
cumspect manner. Our fellows all wore neat white 
pantaloons and sported white kids in place of gigantic 
cotton gloves. No gruff orders were given by the 
officers, but every direction was made in the shape of 
a polite request. An officer was not permitted to say 

''''Right shoulder shift — harms! 1 





But he was instructed to say, 

"Ah, gentlemen {smiling and bowing gracefully, with 
hat in hand), will you do me the favor to shift your 
weapons to the other shoulder?" and immediately 
after making this request he did not shout in a loud 
voice, Harms ! but as soon as the request was com- 
plied with the officer was instructed to remove his hat, 
and say, " Thank you, gentlemen," or " Much obliged to 
you," or something of that sort, yeu kneuw. 


This is the way Col. Clarke drilled the regiment 
after it was drawn up along the Beacon street resi- 
dences, with the beautiful Boston young ladies in front, 
kept back by a guard of white satin ribbon. 

First the polite drill-master appeared before them, 
smiling in his most placid manner — then politely 
tipping his hat he saluted the line, and proceeded to 
shake hands with the entire regiment. When this 
was done the regular drilling commenced and con- 
tinued as follows : 

Attention, if you please, gentlemen ! Ah {takes off hat 
and bows sweetly), thank you ! 

Will you be kind enough to shoulder arms ? Thanks 
{smiling and bowing with hat in hand), gentlemen, 
thanks ! 

Will you now favor me by ordering arms? Ah, thanks,, 

If it is not asking too much, will you be kind enough to 
order arms again ? Ah — thanks — {bowing very low and 
taking off hat), you are very kind. 


/ hope if not too fatiguing, that you will now be kind 
enough to present arms ! Ah — very good {smiles sweetly), 
I'm too obliged to you ! 

If agreeable to you,, will you shoulder arms, please? 
You are — ah, very kind — (bowing) — I'm so much obliged 
to you ! 

If not too much fatigued, gentlemen, might I ask you 
to order arms? Thanks, gentlemen. Ah, you're very 
kind ! {Bows very low and salutes regiment?) 

You are now dismissed, gentlemen ! (Bows pro- 
foundly.) I'm, ah — awfully obliged to you. If agree- 
able to you, ah — I should be happy to, ah — meet you 
again to-morrow evening ! Good day, gentlemen ! 
(Bows and shakes hands all round, while the soldiers 
return to flirt with the young ladks on the balconies?) 


Do not think because I write 
about the follies and foibles of 
Saratoga that good and true 
men do not sometimes go there. 
The good man will be good 
everywhere. He will be just 
till he has no bread, just till 
he has no drink, just 
chained to the stake, till 
he sees the faggots piled 
about him and curling 
flames gnawing at his 
quivering flesh — cling- 
ing to the throne of God. 
In the mazes of the dance you 
will see brave men with hearts to 
love arid pray; Christian mothers 
with faces all aglow with the smiles 
of Heaven ; children with beauti- 
ful angel faces, and babes in arms, 
sweet blossoms born from the 
bosom of Divinity. 
Last summer you might have seen en- 
acted daily, at one of the most fashionable 
hotels in Saratoga, one of the sweetest 
incidents in the Christian life. As the 



thoughtless watering-place throng swayed in and out 
of the great dining-room, and the endless clatter of 
tongues and cutlery seemed to drown every holy 
thought, a silver-haired old man entered quietly at the 
head of his Christian family and took his seat at the 
head of the table. 

Instantly the laughing faces of a tableful of diners 
assumed a reverential look. Their knives and forks 
rested silently on the table while this silver-frosted 
Christian, with clasped hands, modestly murmured a 
prayer of thanks — a sweet benediction to God. The 
scene lasted but a moment ; but all day long the hal- 
lowed prayer of this good man seemed to float through 
the air, guiding, protecting and consecrating the thought- 
less army of wayward souls. 

It was a long time before I could find out who this 
grand old Christian was ; but one night it came to us 
all at once. 

That night a lovely Christian mother arose early 
from the hop-room, with her two little girls, to return 
to her room. 

"Why do you go so early, Mrs. Clarke? The hop 
in not half over," remarked a lady friend. 

" You will laugh at me if I tell you. Now, really, 
won't you, my dear?" 

" No, not unless you make me," replied her friend. 

" Well, then," said this Christian mother, as she 
leaned forward with a child's hand in each of hers. 
" You know I room next to that dear, good old white- 
haired man, and every night at ten he does pray so 
beautifully that I like to go with the children and sit 


in the next room and hear him pray ; for I know when 
we are near his voice nothing can happen to the chil- 

With tears in her eyes, her friend said, " Let me go 
with you ;" and right there, in the middle of the lan- 
ders, these two big-hearted Christian women went out 
with their children to go and kneel down by the door 
in the next room to listen to the family prayer of good 
old Richard Suydam 


Read at the Franklin Statue Dinner at Delmonito's, 

A. D., 1872. 

Grate statur ! Immense, gigantic Franklyn, 

Made of brass ! We reverential bow, 

And skrape, and in thy presents stand 

With heds uncuvered. We give thee glory — praze, 

And smash our Dunlap hats and kry 

Thy glory to yon shining Star ! 

Grate, noble sire ! and yet, of liberty a Sun 

Who cam'st to Herald freedom and a press unchained — 

Who took'st thy Post with patriots round 

The Standard of thy kuntry's struggling braves, 

And wrote thyself a Tribune to the startled World. 

Thou noble ded ! — and yet knot ded, but quick 

In lasting brass — the Express image of thy anshunt self, 

A tranquil Witness to the wond'ring Globe, 

That honist werth shall not eskape reward ! 


Mr. Travers, who stammers enough to make a story 
interesting, went into a bird-fancier's in Center street, 
to buy a parrot. 

"H — h — have you got a — a — all kinds of b — b — 
birds ?" asked Mr. T. 

" Yes, sir, all kinds," said the bird-fancier politely. 

" I w — w — want to b — buy a p — p — parrot," hesi- 
tated Mr. T. 


a Well, here is a beauty. See what glittering plu- 
mage !" 

"I — i — is he a g — g — good t — talker?" stammered 
1 r ivers. 

"If he can't talk better than you can I'll give him 
to you," exclaimed the shopkeeper. 

William bought the parrot. 


"Mr. Travers," says Jay Gould, "once went down 
to a dog-fancier's in Water street, to buy a rat-terrier. 

"'Is she a g — g — good ratter?' asked Travers as he 
poked a little, shivering pup with his cane. 

"'Yes, sir; splendid! I'll show you how he'll go 
for a rat,' said the dog-fancier — and then he put him 
in a box with a big rat." 

" How did it turn out ?" I asked Mr. Gould. 

" Why, the rat made one dive and laid out the 
frightened terrier in a second, but Travers turned 
around, and sez he — ' I say, Johnny, w — w — what '11 ye 
t — t — take for the r — r — rat?' " 


If any one tells a good story in New York, they 
always lay it to Mr. Travers, just as they always used 
to lay all the good stories in Washington to President 

Henry Clews, the well-known bald-headed banker, 
who always prides himself on being a self-made man, 
during a recent talk with Mr. Travers had occasion 


to remark that he was the architect of his own destiny 
— that he was a self-made man. 

"W — w — what d — did you s — ay, Mr. Clews?" asked 
Mr. Travers. 

" I say with pride, Mr. Travers, that I am a self- 
made man — that I made myself — " 

" Hold, H — henry," interrupted Mr. Travers, as he 
dropped his cigar, "w — while you were m — m — 
making yourself, why the devil d — did — didn't you 
p-r-put some more hair on the top of y — your h — 

Mr. Clews has since invested 75 cents in a wig. 


One day last summer, Colonel Fisk was showing Mr. 
Travers over the Plymouth Rock, the famous Long 
Branch boat. After showing the rest of the vessel, 
he pointed to two large portraits of himself and Mr. 
Gould, hanging, a little distance apart, at the head of 
the stairway. 

" There," says the Colonel, " what do you think of 
them ?" 

"They're good, Colonel — you hanging on one side 
and Gould on the other ; f — i — r — s — t rate. But, 
Colonel," continued the wicked Mr. Travers, buried 
in thought, " w — w — where's our Saviour ?" 

Mr. Travers, who is a vestryman in Grace Church, 
says he knows it was wicked, but he couldn't have 
helped it if he'd been on his dying bed. 


One of our swell Fifth Avenue fellows was walking 
in the hall of the hotel last night, displaying a nobby- 
London suit of clothes, and smoking a 40-cent " Henry 

"Hallo, Gus!" said a friend, taking hold of his coat 
lappel, " why, I thought that coat was new ; but — ah — 
I see now! it was bought out of a pawn-shop." 

" Out of a pawn-shop ? I guess not ! " says Gus, 
highly insulted. 

" Yes, Gus, you bought that coat out of a pawn shop 
— now own up — didn't you?" 

" Look here, Charley Gibson (frowning terribly), I 
don't allow any one to insult me, and I won't stand 
any more of your devilish insin " 

'* But, Gus, what's the use of being so airy about 
it ?" interrupted Charley. " I'll bet you a basket of 
champagne that you did buy this coat out of a pawn- 
shop anyway." 

"All right, it's a bet. Now come down to Brooks 
Brothers and I will show you the man who cut it." 

" Well then, of course you bought it oitt of a pawn 
shop; you didn't buy it in a pawn-shop, did you, Gus?" 


On Saturday a Dutch 'longshoreman strode up by 
the Stock Exchange, with a half-dozen ducks strung 
across his shoulders for sale. John Martine and Vice- 
President Wheelock were admiring the gamey birds, 


and thinking how they would taste served up at Del- 
monico's, when Martine observed : 

" A-ha ! Johnny, nice ones, ain't they ? Where did 
you shoot them — on the wing?" 

" Mine Gott, no ! I shoots him on de tail, on de 
back — anywhere he dam shtrike !" 

"What do the ducks live on, Johnny?" 

" O, they lives un corn, und peans, und bread, und 
saurkrout, und " 

" But they can't get those things to live on in the 
winter, man !" 

" O, den dey lives un de schore !" 


This morning an old fellow's horses ran away near 
the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and went smashing along 
down Twenty-fourth Street to Bull's Head. People 
thought the whole fire department was coming. Timid 
men dodged with their horses to get away from the 
shower of wheels and axle-trees, and old ladies screamed, 
tipped over their Domestic sewing machines, and 
pressed their frightened children to their bosoms. One 
old man found himself directly before the frightened 
horses, but it did not do him any good, as he did not 
remain right side up long enough to reap any desirable 
benefit from the discovery. It did not kill him, but 
he looked very much discouraged. 

As the old gentleman who owned the team vainly 
tried after a few minutes to separate the dead horses 


from the running gear, he lifted up his hands and 
exclaimed : 

"O dear! my wagon is broke! I wouldn't a-had 
this happen for five hundred dollars. I " 

" But don't grieve, old man," put in a sympathizing 
Bull's Head man ; " it didn't cost you a cent ; you had 
it done for nothing, so put up your money!" 

And now the old fellow really thinks he has saved 
five hundred dollars. 


Miss Mollie Bacon, of Madison Avenue, observed, 
as she spread her paniers over four seats in the 
stage : 

" I'm too delighted, dear Eli, to have something, at 
last, in the tip of the fashion." 

"How so, Mollie?" I asked. 

" Why, ' Jennie June ' says, ' High-heeled shoes are 
very much worn this winter,' and I've got a pair with 
six holes in 'em !" 


They've got a new sensation at the Fifth Avenue 
Hotel — the fashionable ladies have. It's a male hair- 
dresser. He's a handsome fellow, too, and is bound to 
be quite a favorite. The fellows around the hotel are 
all jealous of him, and try to quiz him on the back 
steps after he has spent an hour or two putting up a 
young lady's hair. 


Yesterday he worked three hours On a sentimental 
young lady's chignon, and she didn't have very much 
hair either. 

"O dear," exclaimed my Uncle Consider, "when 
work is to be done how some men will shirk!" 


Dave Marks, the famous Troy baggage-master and 
trunk smasher — the man who slides trunks from morning 
till night down a plank, and bangs and slams them from 
the New York Central trains into the Hudson River 
boats — recently experienced religion over at the Round 
Lake Camp Meeting. Last night he went to a prayer- 
meeting in Troy, and before a large congregation of 
worshipers he confessed that he had smashed thirteen 
million dollars' worth of trunks in twelve years, and 
had been too sick a good deal of the time to attend to 
business personally, too. 

" But, my dear brothers and sisters," he said, " since 
I experienced the ' wrath to come,' I tell Brother Per- 
kins that any old paper bandbox of a trunk is as safe 
in my hands as a Herring's safe. 

Commodore Vanderbilt told Superintendent Tousey 
this morning that he was going to compel every bag- 
gage-man on the Central Railroad to either experience 
religion or go to breaking stones for ballasting the road 
He says he's not going to hire men and pay them to 
spend all their time and strength working for the New 
York trunk makers, 



On Colfax Mountain, N. J., lives good old Dominie 
Ford. The Dominie is a good old hardshell Baptist, 
who distills apple-toddy during the week and makes 
special prayers and preaches doctrinal sermons on 
Sunday. His forte is praying for specific things, and, 
like the chaplain in the Massachusetts Legislature, he 
always tells the Lord more than he asks for. Sometimes 
the Dominie commences his prayer " O Lord ! thou 
knowest," and goes on narrating what the Lord knows 
for fifteen minutes. 

One day Uncle Consider, Major Colfax and I called 
on the good old Dominie, when he prayed as follows : 

" O Lord, thou knowest the wickedness and de- 
pravity of the human heart — even the hearts, O Lord, 
of our visitors. Thou knowest the wickedness of thy 
servant's nephew, John Ford. Thou knowest, O Lord, 
how he has departed fiom thy ways and done many 
wicked things, such as swearing and fishing on Sun- 
day; and thou knowest, O Lord, how he returned, no 
longer ago than last night, in a state of beastly intoxi- 
cation, and whistling, O Lord, the following popular 

air : 

" « Shoo fly, don't bodder me »' 

And the Dominie screwed up his lips and whistled 
the air in his prayer. 


A New Yorker was introduced to a Cleveland gen- 
tleman to-day, and not hearing his name distinctly, 
remarked : 


"I beg pardon, sir, but I didn't catch your name." 

"But my name is a very hard one to catch," replied 
the gentleman; "perhaps it is the hardest name you 
ever heard." 

"Hardest name I ever heard? I'll bet a bottle of 
wine that my name is harder," replied the New Yorker. 

"All right," said the Cleveland man. "My name is 
Stone — Amasa J. Stone. Stone is hard enough, isn't it, 
to take this bottle of wine?" 

" Pretty hard name," exclaimed the New Yorker, 
" but my name is Harder — Norman B. Harder. I bet 
my name was Harder and it is/" 

The joke cost Mr. Stone just $27.87. 

ELI ON THE F. F. C's. 

This morning a well-known Boston man sat down 
by Senator Robertson, an old and proud resident of 
South Carolina, on the balcony of the United States 
Hotel and commenced ingratiating himself into the 
Southerner's feelings. 

"I tell you, sir, South Carolina is a great State, sir," 
remarked Senator Robertson enthusiastically. 

"Yes," said the stranger from Boston, " she is. I 
knew a good many people down there myself, and 
splendid people they were too ; as brave and high- 
toned as the Huguenots." 

"You did, sir?" exclaimed the Senator. 

Oh, yes, sir. I knew some of the greatest men your 
State ever saw, sir. Knew 'em intimately, sir," con- 


tinued the Boston man, confidentially drawing his chaii 
closer and lighting his cigar. 

" Who did you know down there, sir, in the old 
Palmetto State?" asked the Southerner. 

"Well, sir, I knew General Sherman, and General 
Kilpatrick, and " 

"Great guns!" interrupted the South Carolinian, and 
he kept on talking in the same strain for two hours. 


Some gentlemen were talking about meanness yester- 
day, when one said he knew a man on Lexington 
avenue who was the meanest man in New York. 

"How mean is that?" I asked. 

"Why, Eli," he said, "he is so mean that he keeps 
a five-cent piece with a string tied to it to give to 
beggars; and when their backs are turned he jerks it 
out of their pockets ! 

"Why, this man is so confounded mean," continued 
the gentleman, " that he gave his children ten cents a 
piece every night for going to bed without their supper, 
but during the night, when they were asleep, he went 
up stairs, took the money out of their clothes, and 
then whipped them in the morning for losing it." 

"Does he do anything else?" 

" Yes, the other day I dined with him, and I noticed 
the poor little servant girl whistled all the way up- 
stairs with the dessert ; and when I asked the mean 
old scamp what made her whistle so happily, he said : 


"'Why, I keep her whistling so she can't eat the 
raisins out of the cake.'" 


One day, while riding over the Kansas Pacific Rail- 
road toward Carson, the train boy came into a car full 
of miners, with Eastern newspapers. 

" Her's yer Times 'n Inter-Ocean. Harper's Weekly" 
he shouted. 

An old miner, who caught the last sentence, jerked 
up his head and said : 

"Harper's weakly, schu say, boy. Why, I (hie) 
didn't know he was (hie) sick !" 


There was a young woman named D , whose 

bustle was bigger than she ; she said, " I do find the 
times I 'm behind, so I '11 just put the Times behind 

The above was parodied from this poem by Sir 

Winfield Scott: 

" There was a young man in Glen Cove 
Who sat down on a very hot stove : 
When they asked, ' Did it burn ?' 
He said ' Yes,' in the sternest 
Of voices — this youth from the Cove." 

The above is not quoted as one of the finest things 
Mr. Scott ever wrote. Oh, no. In fact, we have na- 
tive poets who have written grander things. For ex- 
ample, the inspired poet of Saginaw, (Michigan) 


speaking of the early settlement of that country tunes 
his liar, and sings : 

Once here the poor Indians took their delights — 

Fished, fit and bled ; 
Now most of the inhabitants is whites — 

With nary red. 


Last year I saw a watch spring, a rope walk, 
a horse fly, and even the big trees leave. I even 
saw a plank walk and a Third Avenue Bank run, 
but the other day I saw a tree box, a cat fish and 
a stone fence. I am now prepared to see the 
Atlantic coast and the Pacific slope. My Uncle 
Consider says he saw a tree bark and saw it holler. 
The tree held on to its trunk, which they were try- 
ing to seize for board. 


" Eli " says the first composition he ever wrote ran 
about thus: 

A eel is a fish with its tail all 

the way up to his ears never fool with 

powder eli Perkins 

P. S. They live most any where they can git 

And he says this was the only original poetry he ever 
wrote, and it was composed by another fellow : 



The editor of the Cleveland Leader brought his wife 
and eleven children — all boys and girls — to " Eli Per- 
kins's " lecture on free tickets, and then went home 
and deliberately wrote and punctuated the following: 

" A poor man fell over the gallery last night while 4 Eli Perkins 
was lecturing in a beastly state of intoxication." 


In the cabin of the steamer St. John, coming up the 
Hudson the other evening, sat a sad, serious-looking 
man, who looked as if he might have been a clerk or 
bookkeeper. The man seemed to be caring for a crying 
baby, and was doing everything he could to still its 
sobs. As the child became restless in the berth, the 
gentleman took it in his arms and carried it to and fro 
in the cabin. The sobs of the child irritated a rich 
man, who was trying to read, until he blurted out loud 
enough for the father to hear, 

" What does he want to disturb the whole cabin with 
that d baby for?" 

"Hush, baby, hush!" and then the man only nestled 
the baby closer in his arms without saying a word. 
Then the baby sobbed again. 

" Where is the confounded mother that she don't 
stop its noise?" continued the profane grumbler. 

At this, the grief-stricken father came up to the man, 
and with tears in his eyes, said : " I am sorry to dis- 
turb you, sir, but my dear baby's mother is in her 


coffin down in the baggage room. I'm taking her back 
to her father in Albany, where we used to live." 

The hard-hearted man buried his face in shame, but 
in a moment, wilted by the terrible rebuke, he was by 
the side of the grief-stricken father. They were both 
tending the baby. 

Mr. Gough is very fond of telling this story, and Eli 
is glad of it, for it is a good story and a true one. 


Why will young ladies lace so tight ? 

My Uncle Consider says our New York young ladies 
lace tight so as to show economical young fellows how 
frugal they are — how little waste they can get along 
with. They don't lace so as to show their beaux 
how much squeezing they can stand, and not hurt 
'em. O, no ! 


The other day, at a dinner, Jack Hammond appealed 
to several well-known lexicographers as to the mean- 
ing of the word som—et—i—mes. 

"How is it spelled?" asked Mr. Coe. "Perhaps it 
is a musical term." 

"Why, s-o-m som, e-t et, som-et, i som-et-i, m-e-i 
mes, som-et-i-mes," replied Jack, holding up the word 
on a piece of paper. 

Nobody could guess it. Three or four Harvard and 


Yale men went searching after the Latin root, and the 
young ladies said, "We give it up." 

"It is very simple," said Jack; "it means occasion- 
ally. Webster says, ' sometimes, adverb j occasionally — 
now and then !' " 

There was a scattering among his guests, and Jack 
finished his dinner alone. 


The grammarian of the Evening Telegram came into 
our room yesterday, and said : 

" Do you know, Perkins, that table is in the sub- 
junctive mood?" 

"Why?" we asked, meekly. 

" Because it's wood, or should be." And then he 
" slid." 


§|5f Riding up to the village hotel in 
Courtland, where I was to lecture during 
the Greeley campaign, I saw the big, 
smart landlord smoking a short pipe on 
the balcony, while his wife was sweeping 
around his chair. 

« m cm!" 

" Hallo! Do you keep this hotel ?" I 


" No, sir, I reckon not ; this tavern keeps me." 

" I mean, are you master here ?" 

"Waal, sometimes I am (looking at the old lady's 


broom), but I guess the boys an' I run the stable — ■ 
take your hoss ?" 

"Do you support Grant?" I asked. 


"What! support Greeley?" 

"No, s-i-r." 

" Thunder, man ! You don't support George Francis 
Train or Mrs. Woodhull, do you ?" 

" No, sir-r-r-ee ! Look he-er, stranger, I don't sup- 
port nobody but my wife Abby an' the chil'n. It's 
hard 'nough to git suthin for the chil'n to eat, with- 
out supportin' Greeley an' Grant an' such other darn 
fool women as Mrs. Woodhull, when taters ain't worth 
only twenty cents a bushel an' we have to give away 
our apples." 

After the delivery of this, I kept still a few moments 
but soon ventured to continue : 

"Got anything to drink 'round here, my friend?" 

"Yes, everything drinks around here." 

"Any ales?" I mean. 

" Touch of the rheumatiz myself — folks generally 
healthy, though." 

" I mean, have you got any porter?" 

"Yes, John's our porter. Hold his horse, John." 

"I mean, any porter to drink V 

"Porter to drink? Why, John can drink, an* ef he 
can't drink enough, I kin whip a right smart o' licker 

" Pshaw — stupid! Have I got to come down and 
see myself?" 

" Yeu kin come down, Shaw Stupid, and see yourself 

ef yeu want to — thar's a good looking-glass in the bar- 



Awhile ago, the late Mr. Samuel N. Pike sold an 
amphibious Jersey building lot to a Dutchman. There 
are large tracts of land in New Jersey which over- 
flow at high tide. The Dutchman in turn sold the 
amphibious building lot to a brother speculating Dutch- 
man as " nice arable land." Dutchman No. 2 went 
to look at it at high tide and found it covered with 
salt water, eels, and leaping frogs. He came back in 
a great fury, and sued Dutchman No. 1 for swindling 

" Did you sell this land for dry land ?" asked the 
judge of the sharp Dutchman. 

"Yah! It vasch good try lant," replied the Dutch- 

" But, sir, the plaintiff says he went to see it and it 
was wet land — covered with water. It was not dry 
arable land," said the judge. 

"Yah — Yah! It vasch good try lant. Ven I sold 
it to my friend it vasch low tide!" 


"How is money this morning, Uncle Daniel?" asked 
Uncle Consider, as he shook hands with that good old 
Methodist operator on the street this morning. 

"Money's close and Erie's down, Brother Perkins; 
down — down — down !" 


" Is money very close, Uncle Daniel ?" 

" Orful, Brother Perkins— orful !" 

"Wall, Brother Drew, ef money gets very close 
to-day," said Uncle Consider, drawing himself up 
close to Uncle Daniel ; " ef she gets very close — close 
enough so you can reach out and scoop in a few 
dollars for me, I wish you would do it." 

Uncle Daniel said he would. 


"Did you ever do anything in a state of perfect 
indifference, Miss Julia?" I asked an old sweetheart 
of mine last night. 

"Why, yes, certainly, Mr. Perkins — a good many 

"What, did it with absolute, total indifference?" 

"Yes, perfect, complete indifference, Eli." 

"Well, Julia, my beloved," I said, taking her hand, 
"what is one thing you can do now with perfect 
indifference ?" 

" Why, listen to you, Eli." 

I postponed proposing. 


During the whiskey war in Hillsboro', Ohio, the 
ladies all crowded around Charley Crothers's saloon, one 
day, and commenced praying and singing. Charley 
welcomed them, offered them chairs* and seemed de- 
lighted to see them. He even joined in the singing. 


The praying and singing were kept up for several days, 
Charley never once losing his temper. The more they 
prayed and sang the happier Charley looked. One day 
a gentleman came to Charley and broke out : 

" I say, Charley, ain't you getting 'most tired of this 
praying and singing business?" 

"What! me gettin' tired? No, sir!" said Charley. 
"If I got tired of the little singing and praying they 
do in my saloon here, what the devil will I do when 
I go to heaven among the angels, where they pray and 
sing all the time ?" 

Then Charley winked and took a chew of cavendish. 


In Washington they tell a story about Ralph John- 
son, who became alarmed when the ladies came and 
prayed in his saloon. The next day Ralph went to the 
ladies almost broken-hearted, and said if he could only 
get rid of five barrels of whiskey which he then had 
on hand he would join the temperance cause himself. 

" We will buy your poisonous whiskey, and pay you 
for it," said the ladies. 

"All right," said Ralph, and he took $300 and rolled 
the whiskey out. The ladies emptied the whiskey into 
the street. Ralph joined the cause for one day, and 
then went to Lynchburg, where they have 11,000 barrels 
of proof whiskey in store, and bought a new lot. 

"What do you mean by doing this, Mr. Johnson?" 
asked a deacon of the church. 

"Well," replied Ralph, "my customers war a kinder 


partic'lar like, and that thar old whiskey was so dog-on 
weak that I could not sell it to 'em no how ; but it 
didn't hurt the ladies, for it was just as good as the 
best proof whiskey to wash down the gutters with." 


A New York rough stepped into a Dutch candy 
and beer shop this morning, when this conversation 
took place : 

" I say, Johnny, you son of a gun, give us a mug of 
bee-a. D'y' hear?" 

" Yah, yah — here it ish," answered the Dutchman, 
briskly handing up a foaming glassful. 

"Waal, naow, giv' us 'nother mug, old Switzercase !" 

The Cherry Street boy drank off the second glass 
and started to go out, when the Dutchman shouted : 

" Here, you pays me de monish ! What for you run 

" 'You pays de monish!' What do you take me for? 
I doan't pay for anything. I'm a peeler — that's the 
kind of man I am !" growled the rough. 

" You ish von tam sneaking, low-lived scoundrel of a 
thief — that's the kind of man I am!" shrieked the 
Dutchman between his teeth as the Cherry Street boy 
shuffled off towards another beer shop. 


The other evening, at a fashionable reception, Miss 
\Varren, a well known old maid from Boston, was prom- 


enading in the conservatory with Mr. Jack Astor, one 
of our well known New York young gentlemen. As 
the music stopped, the two seated themselves under a 
greenhouse palm-tree, and the following dialogue oc- 
curred : 

" Nobody loves me, my dear Mr. Astor ; no- 
body " 

" Yes, Miss Warren, God loves you, and your mother 
loves you." 

"Mr. Astor, let's go in!" 

And five minutes afterwards Miss Warren was try- 
ing the drawing-out dodge on another unsuspecting 


When Colonel Clark and Adjutant Fitzgerald of the 
Seventh Regiment came to the Grand Union to see 
Tim Breslin and borrow some nut-crackers for the 
regiment, John Cecil and Abiel Haywood said it 
wouldn't do to let 'em have 'em. 

"Why?" asked the Adjutant, indignantly. 

" Because it's dangerous," said Mr. John Cecil. 

"How, dangerous?" 

"Why, Colonel," said Mr. Cecil, as he wiped his 
head with a red bandana handkerchief, "don't you 
know that when the boys crack the nuts they'll be 
liable to burst the shells against the kernel?" 

Mr. Cecil told Colonel Boody that he didn't go to 
Saratoga to dance and such frivolous enjoyment, " Oh, 


"What for, then, John?" asked Charley Wall. 

" Why, I came especially to drink the healing waters 
as prepared by — by — by — " 

" By Jerry, the handsome Grand Union bartender," 
put in Major Selover. 

A suit for libel is pending. 


An agricultural paper, discussing the fuel question, 
says that dry wood will go further than green. My 
Uncle Consider says that depends on where you keep 
it. He says that some of his green wood went three 
or four blocks in one night. 


Some of the ladies here who go to the races are op- 
posed to betting. But to keep up the interest they 
sometimes make mock bets of $ 10,000 and $20,000. 
Yesterday one of our most charming young ladies made 
a real bet of three cents on Longfellow with a well- 
known beau noted for his gallantry. Longfellow got a 
good start and won the race, and then the lady insisted 
on her three cents, but it looked so trivial that the gen- 
tleman didn't think it necessary to go to the office and 
get the picayune three cents to pay it. This morning 
the lady said before a laughing crowd : 

" Mr. B., ain't you ashamed not to pay me those 
three cents? Now I want them. I always pay my bets." 

"All right," replied the handsome gallant, and in a 


few moments he returned with three exquisitely cut 
bottles of Caswell & Hazard's cologne. Placing them 
in a chair beside her, he remarked with a graceful 
bow : 

" My dear Miss B., I am only too happy to pay my 
last bet — please accept, with my compliments, these 
three scents." 


An old bachelor, who hates women, said to-day that 
he didn't want to go to heaven. 

"Why?" asked one of our round-dance Christians. 

" Because it will be full of women — not a d — d man 
there," replied the wicked man. 

He was like the old lady who was afraid to ride on 
the mail train because there were no females there. 


Ex-Congressman Marvin, who is the " Warwick 
behind the throne" in the new United States Hotel, 
called on a carpenter yesterday and said : 

" Mr. Thompson, we have a nice bar-room, and we 
want a handsome bar made. Who can make the best 

" Well, I-I-d-d-don't 'zackly know who could 
m-m-make a handsome b-bsumaid," stammered Mr. 

"No, no. I want a nice, handsome bar made " 

" W-w-wcll, dang it ! if you want a handsome bar- 


maid, why don't you go over to T-T-Troy and get 

" No, no, no, man ! I mean who made these I see all 
around town ?" 

" Great guns, Marvin ! h-h-how the d-d-devil do I 
know who made all the b-b-barmaids around town ? 
I d-d-don't know — and damn" care who did," shrieked 
Mr. Thompson. 


When I lectured in Cooperstown, they told me about 
an English joker who dined with Fennimore Cooper 
before he died in 1851. Cooper was then the most 
conspicuous man in the little town which nestles at the 
feet of a high mountain and reposes on the shores of 
Seneca Lake. One day, while Mr. Cooper was dining 
the Englishman, he poured out some native wine — wine 
from grapes raised in his own garden. Taking up a 
glass and looking through it with pride, Cooper re- 
marked : 

"Now, Mr. Stebbins, I call this good, honest wine." 

" Yes, Mr. Cooper, I agree with you ; it is honest 
wine — ' poor but honest.' " 

Mr. Cooper went on telling his Injun stories. 


Mr. Carter, of the American Literary Bureau, 
which furnishes most of the lecturers in the United 
States, has been sued for saying that a certain lecturer 
" appeared on the platform half sober," 


"What do you mean, sir?" asked the indignant 

" Why, I meant precisely what I said, sir," replied 
Mr. Carter. " I said you were half sober. I'm an ex- 
act man, sir. I only saw half of you — the side towards 
me. I only spoke of that. I don't mean to insinuate 
that the other half wan't sober, too. Oh, no ! But, 
sir, it would have been preposterous for me to say any- 
thing about the half which was out of sight. Wouldn't 
it, sir — me, a precise man ?" 


When a kind old father on Fifth avenue sailed for 
Europe, six weeks ago, he gave his engaged daughter 
permission to " sit up " with her beau, a young stock- 
broker, till a quarter of twelve every night. I guess 
when that fond father comes home and finds out that 
this young man has been " sitting up " and holding 
that fond daughter's hand till three o'clock every 
morning, under the impression that three is quarter 
of twelve — well, I guess that young fellow will think 
he is engaged to the daughter of a thrashing-machine. 


General Le Fevre, of Ohio, who was in twenty-six 
engagements and nineteen battles during the late war, 
has at last become engaged again. This is the first 
Saratoga engagement this season. The enemy's name 
is Miss Snow, and the General has |)een for several 


days on the point of doing as General Burgoyne did 
eighty years ago — surrendering. At last he did it this 
morning. I knew there was something up, because this 
morning when I asked the young ladies why Miss 
Snow was like ice water, they all answered : 
"Why, because she is good to lay fever." 
The General said this morning, " I don't dance the 
lancers, but I should like to lance the dancers — espe- 
cially the venerable Mr. Jarvis, of Boston, who keeps all 
the young ladies dancing the round dances, just because 
some Boston physician said dancing would cure his 


Mr. Scattergood is the name of the minister who 
addressed the Round Lake camp-meeting people yes- 
terday. The name is very appropriate for a minister, 
but there would be no end to its value in a shot- 

The Misses Money, of Cincinnati, are quite belles at 
Saratoga. They are named Miss Julia and Miss Sara. 
This is not the first time they've had ceremony at 

Among a delegation of Chinamen at Saratoga are 
Ah Sin, Flir Ting, Drin King, Sle Ping, Che Ting, Ste 
Ling, Smo King, Dane Ing, Gamb Ling, and Dress Ing. 


There is an Englishman in Saratoga whose feet 
are so large that he rests easier standing up than 
lying down. 



Mrs. Thompson says he objected to taking a walk 
yesterday on the ground that it was so damp. 

"What difference does that make?" I asked. 

" Oh, his feet are so large that so much of him is 
exposed to the damp earth that he takes cold." 

" But suppose he is compelled to go out very rainy 
weather — what does he do ?" I asked. 

" Why, if he has to stay any great length of time, 
he generally sits down on the grass and holds his 
feet up !" 



One day Mr. Galbraith asked old Mr. Hathaway, of 
Canandaigua, if his habits were regular and uniform. 

" Yes," said Mr. Hathaway, " they are very regular 
and very uniform, and a d d many of 'em, too!" 

"We consume annually whiskey and tobacco enough 
to pay for all the bread eaten in the United States." — 
George Bayard in Brooklyn Argus. 

Well, who says you don't ? 

Last Saturday night was a drencher — a regular 
north-easter of a storm — and the theaters were empty. 
Dan Bryant had a large audience, but — they staid at 
home. Dan said they were like horses — checked by 
the rein. 

Lloyd Aspinwall is like bell-metal — he's a Lloyd 
with tin. 

Now the negroes in Kentucky village have got a 

school-house ghost. Should it be called the village 

J3 lacks '-myth ? 



"Muzzlin', Eli," said my Uncle Consider, "makes a 
dog safe, while muslin makes a young lady very dan- 
gerous; still, in hot weather, they both want muzzlin'J " 

The stylish young lady, with hair a la Pompadour, 
won't allow anybody to up braid her but her hair- 

Sic Transit. — The sickest transit I know of is the 
Greenwich Elevated Railroad. 

Capital Offense. — They are going to make it a 
capital offense for one man to elope with another 
man's wife in California. It always was a capital 
offense here, if the man's wife was pretty ! 

Self-Possession. — Donn Piatt owns a jackass. 

"Well," said Speaker Blaine, "Col. Sanford of 
Brooklyn and I were traveling down South. The feed 
had been bad for a day or two, when one day at a 
railroad station we had a big plate of hash. Col. 
Sanford stuck his knife into it and looked at it kinder 
curiously, when the landlord remarked : 

" ' You needn't be afraid of that thar dish, stranger, 
's longs bull pups is worth more'n hogs.' 

' »* 

The Saratoga jail is so insecure, so totally unsafe, 
that the inmates are afraid to keep any jewelry about 
them for fear thieves at large will break through and 


steal it. When a man is taken up there now, he sends 
his valuables to John Morrissey for safe -keeping. So 
many diamonds and laces have been stolen out of the 
jail that President Mitchell says they have determined 
to paint and whitewash it, or do something to make it 

General Bachelor's Geyser Spring in Saratoga is 
still spouting. The water bursts from the bowels of 
the earth through solid rock eighty feet from the sur- 
face, and then flies about twenty feet in the air. A 
Frenchman — Baron St. Albe, from the Clarendon — 
went over to see the spring spout yesterday. As the 
volume of water burst into the air, he dropped his um- 
brella on the arm of a young lady, and raising both 
hands in the air, is said to have exclaimed : 

" Eh ! dis is ze grand spectakle ! Suparbe ! Mag- 
nifique ! By gar, he bust up first-rate !" 

A bore is a man who spends so much time talking 
about himself that you can't talk about yourself. 

A young married lady says Poe's raven was drunk 
all the time it was croaking " never more, never more," 
on that bust of Pallas. 

"How's that?" I asked. 

"Why, Eli, it was a raven 'on a bust.' " 

The same young lady insists that her husband is a 
living, personified poem — not epigram or riddle, but a 


Mr. Jack Astor left Saratoga yesterday just because 
he wrote his name with a diamond on one of the French 
glass windows at the United States Hotel and Mr. 
Marvin came along and wrote under it: 

" Whene'er I see a fellow's name 
Written on the glass, 
I know he owns a diamond, 
And his father owns an ass." 

They say "love is blind," but I know a lover in 
Jersey City who can see a good deal more beauty in 
his sweetheart than I can. 

Chicago is the center of American civilization for 
liquor-saloons and bad sidewalks. 


Fifth Heavenue Hotel, i A. M., Jan. ith. 

I don't feel like writing to-day; my head aches. I 
made New Year's calls yesterday — made 125 calls. 
I finished theiu about twelve o'clock — an hour ago. 

I had my call-list written off, and commenced at 
Sixteenth Street, and came down. My idea was to 
make 125 calls of five minutes each. This would take 

These illustrations were drawn by Tom Nast, and cut from his 
Comic Almanac published by Harpers. 




625 minutes, or ten hours. I think I did it. I workeo 
hard. I was an intermittent perpetual motion. I did 

all any body could do. If 
any fellow says he made 
126 calls, he — well, he is 
guilty of li-bel. I tried it 
I made my 125th call with 
my eyes closed, and at my 
126th I swooned on the 
hall stairs. Natvre was ex. 
hausted. Oh ! but wasn't 
it fun! It is nothing to 
make calls after you have 
been at it a spell. The last twenty calls were made 
with one eye closed. I was actually taking a mental 
nap all the time. My tongue talked right straight 
ahead, from force of habit. Talking came as easy as 
ordinary respiration. All I had to do was to open my 
my mouth, and the same 
words tumbled out : 

" Hap — new year Mis- 

"Ah! Mr. Perkins, I'm 

" May you have man'- 
hap 'returns — by — by !" 

" But arn't you going 
to drink to — " 

"Than k — s p 1 e a s u r 
(drank) ; may you live (hie) thousand years. 
By — by" (sliding into the hall and down front steps). 


I started at noon. Made first call on young lady. 

She said, " You have many calls to make. Won't 
you fortify yourself with a little sherry ?" 

I said I (hie) would, and drank small glass. 

Called next on married lady on Fifth Heavenue. 

She said, " Let's drink to William — you know Will is 
off making calls on the girls." 

"All right, Mrs. Mason;" then we drank some nice 
old Port to absent William. 

On Forty-ninth Street met a sainted Virginia mother, 
who had some real old Virginia egg-nog. 

Very nice Southern egg-nog. Abused the Yankees, 
and drank two glasses with Virginia mother. 

On Forty-sixth Street met a lady who had some nice 
California wine. Tried it. Then went across the street 
with Democratic friend to say New Year's and get 
some of old Skinner's 1836 brandy. Got it. Mrs. 
Skinner wanted us to 

drink to Skinner. j:flSp'' //llW. I W 

Drank to Skinner, and u\ II 

ate lobster salad. 

Met a friend, who 

" Let's run in and 
(hie) see Coe, the tem- 
perance man." 

Coe said, 

" Ah, happy time! 
Let's drink to my wife." 

Drank bottle of champagne to Mrs. Coe 
drank to children. 




Drove round to Miss Thompson's on Fifth Heavenue. 
Thompson's famous for rum punch. Tried. two glasses 
with Miss Thompson. Very happy. House looked 
lovely. Ate brandy peaches. Good many lights. 
Pretty girls quite num'rous. Drank their health 
Drank claret. Then drank Roman punch. Went out, 
leaving a Dunlap hat for a Knox, and a twelve-dollar 
umbrella in the hat rack. 

Happy thought ! Took Charley Brown in the car- 
riage with driver, and got on outside with myself. 

Charley said, " Let's drop in on the Madison Heav- 
enue Masons." "All right." Dropped in. 



Miss Mason says, "Have some nice old Madeira?" 
Said, " Yes, Miss Mas'n, will have some, my dearie." 
Drank to Mrs. Mason, and ate boned turkey to young 
ladies. Young ladies dressed beau'fully — hair, court 
train, and shoes a la Pompadour. Left overcoat and 
umbrella, and changed high hat for fur cap. Saw a 


span of horses in 


here, and ate 
more pony 
brandy. Young 
ladies beau'ful 
— high - heeled 
dress and shoes 
cut dJtollet/. 
Great many of 
them. Nice Ro- 
man punch with 
monogram on it. 
Had fried sand- 
wich with bran- 
dy on it. Pre- 
sented large 
bouquet in cor- 
ner to Mrs. 
La mb. Ex~ 

a carriage drawn by Charley King. 
Charley was tightually 
slight. Said he'd been 
in to Lee's, eating boned 
sherry and drinking pale 

Now all called on the 
Lambs on Thirty-fourth 
Heavenue. Old Lamb 
was round. "Lam's 
Champ's very good," 
says Charley. Also 
drank brandy peaches 



changed hat for card-basket, and slid down front 




Called on Vanderbilt. Hang 
(hie) Vanderbilt ! Vanderbilt 
didn't rec'v calls. Carried off 
card basket and hung Charley's 

hat on bell-knob. Used Van's cards to make other 
calls with. Kept calling. Called steady. Called be- 
tween calls. Drank more. Drank every where. Young 
ladies more beau'ful. Wanted us to come back to 
party in the evening. Came back. Grand party. 
Gilmore furnished by music. Drank more lobster 
salad. Drank half a glass of silk dress, and poured 
rest on skirt of Miss Smith's champagne in corner. 
Slumped plate gas-light green silk down on to nice 
ice-cream. Dresses wore white tarletan young ladies 
cut swallow tail. Sat on young lady's hand and held 
stairs. Very (hie) happy. Fellows had been drinkin'. 

ii P. M. Left party. Carnage outside wanted me 


to get into Fred Young and prom'nade over to the 
Stewarts. Roman punch had been drinking Fred. He 
invited 8 other horses to get into the fellows and ride 
around to Stewarts. Stewart tight and house closed 
up. Left pocket-book in card-basket outside, and hung 
watch and chain on bell-knob. 



All up. Had old Bur- 
Took sherry. Beau'ful 

Called on the Fergisons. 
gundy. Fergison's a brick, 
young lady dressed in blue Roman punch. Opened 
bottle of white gros grain trimmed with Westchester 
county lace. Drank it up. Fellows getting more 
tete-uly slight. Drank Pompadoitr rum with young 
lady dressed a la Jamaica. Hadn't strength to refuse. 
Drank hap' New Year fifteen times — then got into 
Fifth Heavenue Hotel, and told the driver to drive 
round to the carriage. Came up to letter, and wrote 
this room for the Daily Com{\\\c)vertisers. Pulled coat 




off with the boot-jack, and stood self up by the regis- 
ter to dry. Then wrote (hie) wrote more (hie). 

U— -LI PlRK(hic)lNS. 


{Front an Article written by Mark Twain for Harper's Magazine?) 

The Pottsvillians resolved to have a course of lect- 
ures last winter. Every town — that is, every town that 

pretends to be any town at all 
nowadays — must branch out in a 
course of lectures in the winter. 
So the chief citizens of Pottsville 
got together last Fall and decided 
that they would have a course of 
six lectures. They also voted that 
they would have a course of lectures 
that would, to use a Pottsville ex- 
pression, knock the spots off of any course of lectures 
ever delivered in Pottsville. Then they wrote to the 
American Literary Bureau at the Cooper Institute to 
send them six lecturers, at $100 each. One man for 
theology, one for brass-band rhetoric, one for oratory, 
one poet, one reader, and one humorist. The Bureau 
finally made selections as follows : 
Theology, . .Eli Perkins, 

Poet, . 

Daniel O'Connel, 
Josh Billings, 
Wendell Phillips, 
Edgar A. Poe, . 
Cardinal McCloskey, 





As soon as it was known in Pottsville that Mr. Per- 
kins was selected to open the course, the committee 
addressed him a note telling him that he was engaged 
in Pottsville, and asked a speedy reply. 

Mr. Perkins replied as follows : 

"At large in Illinois, Dec. i. 
" Milo Hunt, 

" Chairman Lecture Committee, 

" Pottsville, 

"Dear Sir: 

" Yours informing me that I am engaged in Potts- 
ville is received. Very well ; if she is young and 
wealthy I will keep the engagement. In fact, young 
or old I'll keep the engagement at all hazards — or 
rather at Pottsville. Have no fears about my being 
detained by accidents. I have never yet failed to be 
present when I lectured. Everything seems to impel 
me to keep this engagement. Everywhere here in 
Illinois the people follow me around in great crowds 
and enthusiastically invite me to go away. Illinois 
railroad presidents say they will cheerfully supply 
me with free passage on the trains rather than have 
me remain in the State another night ; and almost 
every railroad president in Ohio and Pennsylvania, 
including Mr. Tom Scott, has supplied me with 
perpetual free passes — hoping I may be killed on the 

"So I'll be with you dead or alive. If I am dead, 
please have it fixed so that holders of reserved seats 


will be entitled to a front seat at the funeral, where 
they can sit and enjoy themselves the same as at the 

"You ask me about my fee. It is usually $99.50 
per night. If your Association feels poor, I don't 
mind throwing in the ninety-nine dollars, but I have a 
little professional pride about sticking to the fifty 

" The lecture will commence at eight o'clock sharp, 
and continue an hour or more, or until somebody 
requests the distinguished orator to stop. 

" You ask me to inclose some of my opinions of 
the press to be used in advertising my lecture. I am 
sorry to say that my opinions of the press are not very 
flattering. In fact, I have the worst opinions of the 
press of any one I know of. I cannot help it. I 
know them well, and they are a bad, wicked set, those 
press fellows are. I belong to the press myself, and 
you must excuse me for not sending you my opinions 
of them. They wouldn't like it. 

"Mrs. Perkins sends her regards, wit} the hope 
that Heaven will continue to protect you ds it has 

" From your friend, 

"Eli Perkins." 

This letter was read before the Lecture Committee, 
causing much enthusiasm. Pottsville was immediately 
placarded with large posters announcing the coming 

of the distinguished lecturer. One placard read 
thus : 


Whereas, that notorious humorist, 

Eli Perkins, 

has been infesting the Western States and 
depopulating her large cities, and now 
threatens to 


our unfortunate citizens at the 

Pottsville Baptist Church, Jan. 3d, 

unless he is paid a large sum of money 
to desist ; therefore, all patriotic citizens 
are called upon to 


at the Baptist Church that same evening, 
Jan. 3d, and hold an indignation 


to protest against this impending calamity. 
By order of 

Lecture Committee. 

Tickets to indignation meeting, 50 cts. 

These handbills caused great excitement in Pottsville. 
Everybody was on tip-toe to see and hear the dis- 
tinguished lecturer. On the day of his expected 


arrival great crowds of people thronged the depot, 
hoping to catch a glimpse of the distinguished visitor. 

At length he came, but in such a quiet, modest 
manner that no one saw him. While great crowds of 
Pottsvillians were watching the train with strained 
eyes Mr. Perkins quietly slipped out of the emigrant car, 
with his umbrella in one hand and carpet bag in the 
other, walked up to the Pottsville House, and sat 
down in the billiard room. 

The arrival of the distinguished stranger was thus 
announced by Col. Ramsey in the Miner's Journal, 
next morning: 

Distinguished Arrival. — A remarkable old gentle- 
man with German silver spectacles, long drab overcoat, 
and a Greeley looking carpet-bag, arrived at the 
Pottsville House yesterday from the Pittsburgh train. 
The old man wabbled up to the counter, took off his 
old slouch hat, solemnly shook hands with Mr. Jerry 
Griffith, wiped his bald head with an old red bandana 
handkerchief, looked over his glasses, and wrote, 

Consider Perkins (at large). 
Eli Perkins, his nevvy, do. 

"Have a room, Mr. Perkins?" asked Mr. Griffith, as 
he pressed the blotter over the old man's name. 

" O no, thank ye, lan'lord." 

" Have supper, sir ?" 

" No, I guess not. Eli, my nevvy, and I, speak " 

" But let me take your carpet bag, Mr. Perkins," 
interrupted Mr. Griffith. 

"No, I'm obleegedter you, Ian 'lord — Eli and I " 


" Well, goodness gracious, old man ! what can I do 

for you ? What " 

" O, nothin' 'tall, Ian 'lord. We jes thought we'd like 
to A-R-R-I-V-E here ; that's all. We've been knockin' 
'round through Pennsylvania right smart, an' it's a 
good while since we've 'rived at a hotel, an' I thought 
I'd like to 'rive here with my Eli to-night. You see, 
lan'lord, my nevvy is an edicated young man, an' he's 
goin' to lectur the edicated classes here in Pottsville 
to-night, an we want to jes sit 'round the halls here 
an' wait till the time comes ; that's all." 

Our reporter called on Mr. Perkins early this morn- 
ing and found him engaged in writing his great lecture 
on a backgammon board in the billiard-room. 

" Have you any press notices of your coming lecture, 
Mr. Perkins — something to republish in the Journal?" 
asked our reporter. 

"Press notices, young man!" said Mr. Perkins, 
" Why, yes, bushels of 'em. I've done nothing but 
write press notices for the last month. I " 

" What ! you don't write your own press notices, do 
you, Mr. Perkins?" 

" Sartainly, young man, sartainly," replied Uncle 
Consider, as he fished files of the Congressional Globe, 
Chicago Times, and other newspapers out of his over- 
coat pocket. " Look a here ! See what the Chicago 
Times says!" and the old man put on his glasses and 
read as follows : 

When " Eli Perkins " delivered his great lecture in the Illinois 
House of Reprehensibles, there was a great rush — hundreds of peo- 
ple left the building, and they said if he had repeated it the next 
night they would have — left the City. — Chicago Times. 


" That's complimentary, Mr. Perkins," replied our 
reporter. "Have you got anymore?" 

" Bushels of 'em, sir — b-u-s-h-e-1-s. Let me read you 
this from the Yale College Currant" and the old man 
continued to read : 

It is proper to say that Mr. Perkins delivered his great lecture 
before the faculties of Yale, Vassar, and Harvard Colleges — ever 
heard anything about him. — Yale College Courant. 

" Very complimentary, Mr. Perkins," observed our 
reporter enthusiastically. " Have you other criti- 
cisms ?" 

" Bushels of 'em, young man, wagon loads. Want to 
hear what the Christian Union says about Eli's great 

" You don't say the Christian Union compliments him 
do you ?" 

" Sartenly. Let me show you," and Uncle Consider 
put his finger on this paragraph and handed it to our 
reporter : 

We never, but once, experienced more real, genuine pleasure 
than when this eloquent man, Mr. Perkins, closed his remarks. 
That occasion was when we won the affections of a beautiful 
young lady, and gained a mother-in-law — and then saw that 
mother-in-law sweetly and serenely pass away. 

"Beautiful criticisms! beautiful," exclaimed our re- 
porter, grasping the old man by the hand. 

" If you call that beautiful, young man, just hear 
what Henry Ward Beecher says about Eli." 

"Does Henry indorse him, too?" asked our reporter. 

" Indorse him ! I guess he does. Just listen now and 
hear what Henry wrote to Wilkes" Spirit of the Times : 


" Words cannot describe the impressive sight." ( ThaPs the way 
Henry commences. Then he goes on.) How sublime to see Mr. 
Perkins standing there perfectly erect, with one hand on his 
broad, massive, thick skull, talking to the educated classes — to see 
the great orator declaiming, perfectly unmoved, while streams of 
people got up and went out ! How grand a spectacle, as joke after 
joke fell from the eloquent lips of this Cicero of orators, to watch 
the enthusiastic crowds arising majestically like one man, and 
waving their hands as they clamorously demanded their money back 
at the box-office. 

"And Henry wrote that, Mr. Perkins?" 

"Sartinly; and just listen to what De Witt C. Tal- 
mage says ! Listen " 

"No; I hear enough! Let me go!" exclaimed our 
reporter, and he fled back to the Journal office. 

The reserved seat tickets to the great lecture read 
as follows : 





"Mr. Perkins" distributes a $17.00 Chromo to all who remain 

to the end of the Lecture. 

Parties of six who sit the Lecture out ivill be given 


Tickets admitting a Man and Wife (his own Wife) to Reserved 
Seats, $1.00. Single Men admitted for 75 Cents. 


Pottsville Opera House, Jan. 3d. 

["please don't 
L TURN over. 

It was noticeable at the lecture in the evening that 
many people came especially to get the chromos. One 
party of six slept entirely through the lecture, awaking 


just in time to claim the house and lot. The house 
and lot was a smoke house and a lot of ashes. 

At eight o'clock the great orator 
stepped upon the platform accom- 
panied by Elder Cleveland, who 
officiated on the Sabbath from the 
same desk. The church was crowd- 
ed. After the applause had some- 
what subsided, Brother Cleveland 


arose and said : 

" Brothers and Sisters — I have the pleasure of intro- 
ducing to you to-night Brother Perkins, from New York. 
I am told that he is to deliver a humorous lecture, but 
I wish you all to bear in mind that this is the house 
of God." 

As Elder Cleveland 
finished, Mr. Perkins 
stepped forward, pulled 
off his audience, and, 
bowing to his overcoat, 

I used to object to 
being introduced to 
strangers ; and for hun- 
dreds and hundreds of 
years, I never permit- 
ted myself to be intro- 
duced to anybody — till 
I got well acquainted 
with them. {Laughter?) 

I suppose, my 


MelviUe D. Landon. 


friends, that I ought to tell you how I came to deliver 
this lecture. Well, it was this way : I was riding in 
the cars the other day with an old Granger who lives 
just over the Pennsylvania line in Ohio. As we rode 
along, I looked out of the car window and whistled 
one of my favorite tunes like this : 

Leg grow. Press toe. CDodgio. Laf ery mere set 


1/ **- ** <**-*- 

tiow cum U sow. 

" Did you make up that tune ?" inquired the 

" Yes, sir," I replied. I do that kind of thing all 
the time. My name is Perkins. I'm " 

"What! Eli Perkins?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" The man who lectures ?" 

"Yes, sir; I'm going to Marietta now." 

"Going to marry who?" 

"I mean I'm going to Mari — etta." 

" Yes, I heard you say so. Nice girl — rich, I 'spect, 
too, ain't she?" 

"No, sir; you don't understand me. I'm going to 
lecture at Marietta. I'm " 

" Then you really do lecture, do you ?" continued 
the Granger. 

" Why, of course I do." 

" Been lecturing much in Ohio ?" 

"Yes — a good many nights." 

"Well, now, Mr. Perkins," said the Granger, as he 
dropped his voice to a confidential whisper, " why 


don't you lecture over in Pennsylvania ? We just 
hate Pennsylvania, we do!" 

The whole audience were now in tears, one above 
the other, and continued so while Mr. Perkins spoke 
for an hour as follows : 

* * * * 

* Glorious * Constitution * 

* forefathers * Bunker Hill * 
* Gen. Washington * Stars and Stripes * 

* Beautiful woman — * liberty forever * 

* * * * 

The great orator concluded his lecture by saying: 
" The wealthy young ladies in this audience will now 
have an opportunity of taking the lecturer by the 
hand." No one in the vast audience moved toward 
the speaker. But when he remarked, " The lecturer 
will now be pleased to shake hands with all young 
ladies under twenty years of age," there was a great 
rush for the speaker's platform. For over an hour Mr. 
Perkins shook hands with long rows of young ladies — 
all under twenty years of age. Then putting his 
hundred dollars in his pocket the great orator took 
the train for Philadelphia. 


The Hon. Charles Backus, of the San Francisco 
minstrels, was once censured by the Speaker of the 
California Legislature for making fun of his brother 
members. This broke poor Charley's heart, and he 
joined a minstrel company, so's to be where no one 
would grumble when he indulged in a little pleasantry. 

The other day, Mr. Backus rode up through Stam- 
ford, Conn., with Mr. Lem Read, the bosom friend of 
the lamented minstrel, Dan Bryant. As the train 
stopped before the Stamford station for water, Mr. 
Backus saw a good old red-faced Connecticut farmer 
sitting in the station reading the Brooklyn scandal. 

"Do you want to see me get a good joke on that 
old duffer, Lem ?" asked Mr. Backus, pointing to the 
old farmero 

"Yes," said Lem; "le's see you." 

"Well, you wait till jes' before the train starts, Lem, 
and I'll show you fun — fun till you can't rest. Jes' 
you wait," said Charley, laughing and pounding the 
palm of his left hand with his ponderous right. 

"All right, I'll wait," said Lem. 

When the train came to a full stop, Mr. Backus 
jumped off, telling his friend Lem to save his seat, 
"for," said he, " as soon as the bell rings I want to 
bound back on the train." 

Then Mr. Backus rushed up to the innocent farmer, 



snatched the paper from his hands, stamped on it with 
a tragic stamp, and shaking his clenched fist in the 
poor man's face, exclaimed, 

"O, you old rascal! I've found you 't last, you mis- 
erable old scapegrace — now I'm goin' to lick the life 
out of you — you contemptible old scoundrel, you — 
you " 

Ding-a-ding ! ding-a-dong ! ding-a-ding ! went the 
bell, drowning Charley's voice, and the train began 
moving out. 

"Yes, I'll lick you," said Charley. "I'll get an ox 
whip and " 

And then he jumped back from the astonished farmer 
and got on the last car of the train moving out. 

The old farmer was astonished. He stood up be- 
wildered. His knees quaked and his German silver 
glasses fell on the floor. Then gathering himself to- 
gether, he picked up his newspaper and glasses and 
started for the train. 

"Whar's the man who wanted to lick me?" he shout- 
ed. " Whar's the man who called me a scoundrel? 
Whar's " 

"Here he is," said Charley from the rear platform, 
as he held his thumb derisively to his nose amid the 
laughter of the passengers. "Here I am, sir — I'm your 
Roman — take me " 

Just then the bell went ding-a-ding again, and what 
do you think ? Why, the train backed back ! It 
backed poor Charley right into the hands of the infu- 
riated farmer, who took off his coat and went for that 
poor fun-loving minstrel. Expressed by the types, if 


I am compelled to write it, he went for that poor min- 
strel about thus : 

St. box8DVcccKCL! 

"You want to lick me, do you?" said the farmer, 
jumping onto the platform, while Charley ran through 

the car. " You miserable dandy ! You want to '' 

And then he chased that poor minstrel through the 
cars with his cane in the air, while his big fist came 

down on his back like a trip- 
hammer. " You've found 
me, have you? Yes, I guess 
you have !" said the old 
farmer, as Charley left his 
hat and one coat-sleeve in 
his infuriated grasp. "Evi- 
dently you have." 

"I GUESS YOU HAVE FOUND ME!" Mr Backus g^ ^ he 

washed off the blood with Enoch Morgan's Sapolio, 
and went in to interview a tailor in New Haven two 
hours afterwards, 

"I guess the next time I want to make Lem Read 
laugh I won't try to scare a Connecticut farmer. Oh 
no! I'll get some pugilist to fan me with an Indian 
club, or go and sleep under a pile driver. You hear 
me !" 



Mr. Perkins, having been invited while at Saratoga 
to return to New York and take passage in the great 
transatlantic balloon with the other journalists, replied 
as follows to the proprietor of the newspaper, who also 
owned the balloon : 

Saratoga, July 4. 

Gentlemen : I received your note this morning, in- 
viting me to go up in the balloon. You say you desire 
me to go as the representative of the Daily Bugle — to 
be the official historian of the first great aerial voyage 
across the Atlantic. You also say : 

" While your going, Mr. Perkins, might not contribute any great 
principle to science, and while we have nothing against you person- 
ally, still, your departure would gratify the American people, and 
you would be enabled to carry out that beautiful theory of moral 
philosophy — ' the greatest good to the greatest number.' " 

I thank you, gentlemen, for your flattering invitation, 
which I herein accept. I don't know what I have 
done, or why you single me out and invite me to go 
away, unless it is your desire to lift me up and improve 
my condition. However, I will make positive arrange- 
ments to go in your balloon any time after the 20th 
of August. I have consulted with many of my friends 
here, and they all advise me to go. Of course it makes 
them feel sad, but they are glad to make the sacrifice 



— glad to contribute the life of one they love so well 
to the cause of science. My uncle Consider says the 
sadness of my fixed departure would be somewhat alle- 
viated if he could only be assured that I would never 

" Sunset " Cox says I have the proper specific levity 
— that I am light-hearted and light-headed, and am 
just the person to go — just the one to give earliest 
news of sunsets, falling stars, and aurora-borealicusses 
and other astronomical phenomena. 

You ask me what I desire to take as luggage, offer- 
ing me any space which I may desire. First of all, I 
should like to take several Saratoga young ladies. 
They like to take up a good deal of room, but I assure 
you they are very light. They are anything but solid 
young ladies. Then, as we drift into new celestial 
worlds, it is well to display the judgment of Noah in 
looking out for the species. I don't think Noah would 
have taken Mr. Sumner or A. T. Stewart. Mr. Vander- 
bilt or Mr. Saxe or General Nye would do far better. 
[ do object to Mr. Sam Cox, who has proved himself 
of no particular value in establishing a new population. 
Jn case the balloon is too heavy, the young ladies are 
willing to be thrown out as ballast. It is thought that 
they would float away very gracefully — as Virgil says : 

*' Sic itur ad astra." 

Twelve young ladies here to-day, with Worth dresses, 
Colgate's perfumery, and pearl powder, only weigh 98 

I should like also to take my horse and Brewster 


dog-cart. We may land miles from any street cars 
and out of the sight of any omnibus; besides, it will 
be nicer to drive into town in style any way. 

Here is a list of other luggage which I desire to take 
either as baggage, ballast, or company, or to make into 

Names. To be used for. Weight. 

G. F. Train, .... for pure wind, 190 lbs. 

Schuyler Colfax, . . .for hydrogen gas, ... 10 lbs. 

4 Congressional Globes, . for dead weight, . . . 479,628 tons. 

200 doz. champagne, . . for water, 

$9,000 for curiosity, 

12 cows, for company, 

8 barrels water, . . . for scrubbing floor, . 
Hair, paint, cotton, . . for young ladies, 
19 carrier pigeons, . . for pigeon pie, .... 
12 lbs. butter for greasing dogcart, . . 

Total, • . $32,491 

I should also like to take up a watch dog and double- 
barreled shot-gun, to be used in case Mr. Wise and I 
disagree about the meals served at table, or to prevent 
my being called too early in the morning. My theory 
to ascend about two miles, and then go straight across 
to Buckingham Palace, and put up with Mr. Bucking- 
ham one night, and then go on to Canton. In case I 
consider it dangerous or disagreeable to ride in the air, 
I shall instruct Mr. Wise and the boys to strap the 
balloon to the deck of a steamer, or lace it tight, if the 
ladies did not object, to a train of cars. Borne along 
at the rate of twenty miles an hour on a freight car, Mr. 
Wise could have ample opportunity to make his experi- 
ments with air currents and toll-gates and things I 



76 lbs. 












really believe that the safest way to do is to all get 
in the balloon, put it on a clipper ship, and let the wind 
blow us anywhere except over large islands or con- 

If everything is satisfactory, and you will send me a 
few thousand dollars to buy champagne and cigars and 
breastpins and a loaf or two of bread — an absolute ne- 
cessity, you know, when you are going to travel — if you 
will do all this, why, I'll take your money now, and say- 
ing, " May heaven bless your great enterprise," put it in 
my pocket, where you will always know where it is. 
Yours warmly, Eli Perkins. 

the TRIP. 

Notwithstanding the famous balloon burst, and 
Wise and Donaldson got into a bitter personal quarrel, 
the former withdrawing from the expedition, " Eli Per- 
kins" continued to make the trip, sending back the 
following carrier pigeon dispatches : 

[To the Editor of the Daily Bugle.] 

I send you this by the carrier-pigeon Ariel. The bal- 
loon is sailing well. The collapse was a ruse. We 
"busted" her last night to get the people out of the 
yard. Then Mr. Donaldson and myself inflated her 
again with gas which we had with us, and sailed away 
at eight p.m. According to the barometer we are now 
suspended in mid-heavens at 968 east latitude and 8 
degrees ante-meridian. We passed San Domingo thirty- 
seven miles east of the planet Vesuvius at eleven o'clock 


m.d. this forenoon. I am navigating the balloon alone, 
and Donaldson and Lunt are feasting on the pigeons 
and shooting at each other with pistols. Wise sits in 
the stern of the boat with a navy revolver, and Donald- 
son sits in the bow with a shot-gun loaded to the muz- 
zle with peas and billiard-balls. It is very amusing and 
instructive. If I hadn't gone along to act as mediator 
and navigator, I think science would have suffered. 

This morning at three o'clock and ninety-four min- 
utes n.b., while we were sailing along over Cape Cod, 
Mr. Wise came up to my room, rang the bell, and 
wanted to know whose side I was on. 

"On the side of science," sez I, "of course." 

" No, no ! Mr. Perkins," he said in great agitation, 
"I mean on which side are you in the great fight?" 
Then he cocked his gun. 

I told him I wasn't on any side. I also stated to him 
that I was a peace man — that I came in the balloon 
purely for science. 

"Then, Mr. Perkins," he said, looking at his gun, 
" I propose to kill you. You and Donaldson are mu- 
tineers. I will give you four minutes 'to join my side." 

Then I joined his side, just to please him, and he 
gave me two navy revolvers to defend ourselves against 
Mr. Donaldson, who was turning hand-springs and 
cart-wheels on the deck in the most threatening man- 

A little later, and Mr. Donaldson pointed his shot- 
gun at me and whispered in my ear. He said, "Mr. 
Perkins, I will give you $11 if you will join my side." 
I took the money and joined. Then we pointed our 


shot-guns and revolvers directly at Mr. Wise's legs, 
and told him to keep quiet. 

A little later — about nine s.c. — Mr. Wise offered me 
$27 to abandon Mr. Donaldson and come over to 
him. I took the money, and saying, " It is all for 
science," I came over to him. Then we aimed our 
revolvers at Donaldson. 

So I've been going back and forth all night. I 
have made large sums of money, and put . it in the 
rear end of my dog-cart, where I can drive off with 
it as soon as we land. I suppose I have made $19,- 
000 within the last hour in breaking up the balance 
of power between the balloonatics. 

It is very cold here. There is great coldness be- 
tween Mr. Wise and Donaldson, and there is where I 
am — between them. The theory that Mr. Wise ever 
had a warm heart is completely exploded when you 
see the icicles hanging on the end of his nose and on 
his cold shoulder, which he keeps towards us. 

We have now gone up to a great altitude, say 230 
miles. We can easily see people on the moon. We 
have discovered that the specks on the sun are made 
of German silver. The milky way is only a dense 
fog, with droves of mosquitoes that have got lost 
from New Jersey. The light young ladies from Sara- 
toga, whom we took in for ballast, have all been 
thrown out. They astonished us by going on up 
higher than the balloon. Several have sailed off 
towards Mars — latitude east of New Jersey and longi- 
tude 90 deg. Fahrenheit. I computed it, 

At four o'clock m.d. we passed General Butler. He 


found the easterly currant, and stole it and ate it up 
before we arrived. He is now looking for prunes and 
dates. About this time we met with an accident. 
Our silverware disappeared. We are now roasting the 
pigeons over a kerosene lamp and eating them with 
our fingers. We have passed Australia and Harlem 
and Peoria (111.). We may make a landing at New- 
gate to see friends. Don't look for our return to-day. 


10 o'clock d.d.— She moves lovely. A heavy swell 
just struck the balloon. We immediately threw him 
overboard. Our chaplain has just struck for higher 
wages. His wages are four miles high now, and still 
he is not satisfied. He struck with his left hand. 
He wants to organize a base-ball club. He is not a 
proper man for a scientific expedition. We shall throw 
him out. 


f.x o'clock, f.r.s. — Have thrown the chaplain and 
Wise out. They have done nothing but eat the 
pigeons and drink the water which we brought up to 
scrub the floor with. Our carriage horses are doing 
well, and the twelve cows we brought up for company 
are improving rapidly. Hay and oats are cheap, but 
going up. This morning I called the police and had 
Mr. Donaldson arrested for standing on his head on 
the top of the balloon. He is now in irons. I'm 
sorry for it, for he appears to take quite an interest 
in our great scheme. I don't think Mr. Wise does. 


He spends all his time wiping out his. gun and hunt- 
ing around for Mr. Donaldson. 


12 o'clock post-mortem. — England in sight. We 
can tell it by the fog. We shall return in about a 
week. Mr. Donaldson says he shall take this same gas 
back to America and exchange it for Congressional 
gas from the House of Reprehensibles, which he pro- 
poses to put in a solid cast-iron balloon to be pro- 
pelled by a canal-boat. This is one of Mr. Wise's 
theories. It is growing very cold here. My hands are 
frozen. Send me some money ($) by the pigeon. 
Also, borrow a Testament from some of the daily 
newspapers in New York, if they have one, and send 
it along. We shall stop with Mr. Windsor, of Windsor's 
Palace, to-morrow night — latitude west 128 Troy weight, 
and longitude north from Pittsburgh, 4, 11, 44. The 
Daily Bugle comes regularly. Adieu ! 

Warmly yours, Eli Perkins, Airiant. 



Mr. Andrew V. Stout, the Pres- 
ident of the Shoe and Leather Bank, 
is a shrewd man — not, as Joey Bag- 
stock would say, "a dev'lish sly 
man," but a keen, shrewd financier 
and business man. 

A few mornings since, when Mr. 
Stout was coming down in the 
Broadway cars, he sat in such con- 
fidential proximity to a sympathiz- 
ing pickpocket that the latter was 
tempted into the acceptance of Mr. Stout's pocket- 
book, containing valuable papers and $150 in green- 
backs. Then the pickpocket said good morning to 
Mr. Stout, and left. On arriving at the bank, Mr. 
Stout discovered his loss. He was astonished that he, 
a shrewd old New Yorker, should have his pocket 

"Pshaw!" he said to his secretary, "no man could 
ever pick my pocket, I am too smart for that. No, sir. 
I should just like to see any one pick my pocket, I 

Then Mr. Stout's lip curled in contemptuous scorn 
at the bare idea of such a silly improbability. 



But the pocket-book, with the money and valuable 
papers, was gone, and the next day Mr. Stout adver- 
tised m the Herald. He said if the person who took 
his pocket-book would return the papers, he would give 
him the money and $25 besides. 

The next morning he got a confidential note from a 
party who said a friend of his had the pocket-book 
all safe, and that he would call at the bank the next 
day to arrange the matter. 

" I wonder if this man really will call ?" mused 
the banker as he wiped his eye-glasses and cut off 
a basketful of coupons. " I wonder if he will be 
such a darned fool as that? But then you can't ex- 
pect common men to be as shrewd as bank presi- 

But sure enough the next day the man was at his 

" Well, what about the pocket-book ?" asked Mr. 

" Oh, it's all safe, Mr. Stout, and if you'll just go 
with me a few blocks I'll show you the party who has 
your pocket-book, with all the memoranda too. It's all 
safe, Mr. Stout. Come!" 

The stranger had such an honest look that the 
banker, who always prides himself on his knowledge of 
men, "took stock in him" at once. 

" All right, my good man, let me get some money 
to pay you for your trouble, and I'll be with you," 
said Mr. Stout, looking at his four-hundred-dollar 

In a few moments they started off together — Mr. 


Stout and his honest friend, for a Centre Street restau- 
rant, where the thief or finder was supposed to be. 

" Now, you just wait outside 
in the front room a moment, 
Mr. Stout, and I'll go into the 
back room and see the man 
who has the money and valu- 
able papers," said the good 
man as he went into the back 

In a moment Mr. Stout's 
friend returned with the mes- 
sage that his friend wouldn't 
give up the valuable papers 
in the pocket-book for $25. " He wants $50 now, sir." 
" But I only advertised to give $25 for the papers," 
said Mr. Stout, with an eye to business. " This is an 

"Well," said the kindly-looking 
stranger, " I'll go back and reason 
with the gentleman, and try and get 
the papers for $25." And he dis- 
appeared in the back room again. 
In a moment he returned, smil- 

'you just wait outside a 
moment, mr. stout." 

"Well, Mr. Stout," he said, "my 
his gentleman friend. f r i en d will take $25, but he wants 

the money before he gives up the pocket-book." 

"All right," said Mr. Stout, blandly, "here is $25. 
Take it to him, my good man, take it to him, and bring 
back the papers — quick !" 

" One word, Mr. Stout," said the man, confidentially, 
" this thing, you know, is to be strictly between our- 

"Yes, yes; I've said it." 

"And you will never ask any questions, tell anything, 
or seek further knowledge, will you?" 

" No, never, I give you my word, as President of the 
Shoe and Leather Bank, my good man, not to say any- 
thing about it, not a single syllable — not even to my 

"All right, then — mum is the word," said Mr. Stout's 
friend, as he put his finger to his lips and passed into 
the back room with the money. 

Mr. Stout waited patiently for his return — waited five, 
ten, fifteen minutes, but alas ! his friend never came 
back, and the shrewd President returned to the bank, 
a sad and a ruined man. He says his friend is wel- 
come to the $25, but he told Daniel Drew that he 
wouldn't have the story get into print or around among 
his friends for $10,000. 

"No, sir, it wouldn't be fair, Daniel, would it?" said 
Mr. Stout, " when I promised — solemnly promised the 
man when I gave him the $25 never to mention the 
matter — not even to my wife." 


"Lost child!" 

That used to be 

the cry along the 

street, but now, 

though there are a 

dozen children lost 

every day in New 

York, the thing is so 

systematized that it 

is impossible for a 

child to be lost for 

any length of time. 

The only thing is 

to know what to do 

to find it, and if you 

read three minutes 

longer, you will 

know all about it. 

"How can we find a lost child?" 

The first thing you must do after the child is lost 

is to go to the Police Headquarters on Mulberry 

street, near Houston. Away up in the fifth story of 

that marble-front building are three rooms labeled 

"lost children's department." 
This Lost Child's Department was established in 1864. 




Here you will see a dozen cozy cribs, cradles, and 
beds for the little lost children and foundlings of the 
city. Yes, and sometimes for old men and women, too, 
lost in their second childhood. 

At the head of this department you will see the 
middle-aged matron, Mrs. Ewing — a bright, systematic 
American woman. 

"How do the lost children get here?" 
First they are picked up by kind-hearted policemen 
and taken to their respective station-houses. There 
they are kept until seven p.m. Then the Sergeant of 
Police sends them with a ticket to Mrs. Ewing, at 
Police Headquarters. 

"What does Mrs. Ewing do with them?" 
She first enters the child's name on the book, gives 
it a number, then writes its sex, age, color, by whom 
found, where found, precinct sent from, and time re- 
ceived. Then, after the child is gone, she writes after 
its name how long it stayed, and what became of it. 
"What becomes of the children sent here?" 
Every effort is made to find out where the child 
lives, who its parents are, the father's profession, etc. ; 
and if, at the end of three days, nothing is heard from 
its parents or friends, it is sent to George Kellock, 
No. 66 Third avenue, Superintendent of the " Out- 
Door Poor" for the Department of Public Charities 
and Correction. 
"What then?" 

Here, in the Charity and Correction building, are 
some nice rooms kept by a good woman by the name 
of Tumey, and the children are cared for till the old 


nurse named " Charity " takes them in a carriage to the 
foot of Twenty-sixth street and the East River, and 
accompanies them on the boat to the Foundling 
Hospital on Randall's Island, where they stay at school 
till they are claimed, bound out, or become old enough 
to support themselves. 

We have now followed the lost child from the time 
when first lost, through the local station-house, police 
headquarters, Mr. Kellock's office, and to Randall's 


Now we will return to the Police Headquarters and 
hear what Mrs. Ewing says about the babies. 

"How many children are lost per month?" I asked 
of the matron. 

" I had eight yesterday. From 400 to 500 pass 
through our hands every month in summer, but in 
winter not so many. Then, sometimes, we have old 
people too." 

" Do you have many old people ?" 

"No, only a few. Yesterday the police brought in 
a nice old lady with white hair, who seemed to be all 
in confusion. The sight of the police had frightened 
her," continued the matron, "but as soon as I got her 
in here, I gave her a nice cup of tea, and commenced 
to find out where she lived. 

" 'Who do you live with, grandma?' I asked, for she 
was eighty years old. 

" She said she lived No. 700, but she didn't know 
the street. Then pretty soon she seemed to gain con- 


fidence in me, and she took out a big roll of bank 
bills and a Third Avenue Savings Bank book. 

"'See,' said the old lady, confidentially, 'I went to 
get this and I got confused when I came out. I live 
on the same street with the bank.' 

"And sure enough," said the matron, "when we 
looked in the directory there we found her daughter's 
residence, No. 700 Third avenue. When the police 
took the old lady home the daughter was half crazy 
for fear her mother had been robbed." 

" Do you have a good deal of trouble in finding 
out the residences of children?" 

" Not very often. But sometimes the children stray 
across the ferries from Jersey City and Brooklyn; and 
then there are so many streets in Brooklyn and Jersey 
named after our streets that we are sorely puzzled. 

" The other day, to illustrate, a pretty little German 
girl was picked up down towards Fulton street. The 
only thing she knew was that she lived corner of 
Warren and Broadway, so the police brought her up 
here. I sent her the next day to the corner of War- 
ren and Broadway, but there were nothing but ware- 
houses there, so we were very much puzzled. When 
the little girl came back I thought her heart would 
break. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and her 
face was hot with fever. O, it was roasting hot! I 
was afraid she would be sick. So I said: 

" l Sissy, don't cry any more — lie down, and when 
you wake up your papa will be here.' 

"'Oh, will he come, sure, will he?' sobbed the little 


"'Yes, my child,' I said, and then I put her in the 
crib. She had a paper of peanuts and seventy cents 
in her pocket, which she said her mother gave her. 
These I put before her on a chair, and the little thing 
soon fell asleep. 

"About two o'clock in the 
morning," continued the ma- 
tron, " somebody knocked at 
the door. I got up and struck 
a light, and as I opened it a 
man asked — 

" ' Have you got a little lost 
girl here?' 

"' Yes, we've got three little 
girls here to-night,' I said. 

" ' But have you got a little 
with long golden hair, dressed 
in a little red hood and a plaid 
shawl ? ' 

"'Yes, just such a one. Come 
in and see her.' 
" Then," continued the matron, " I called all the 
children up. and he came in. The light shone on the 
little girl's face, as she stood there waiting. In a sec- 
ond the father had her in his arms. 

"'How did you get over here, baby?' he cried, as 

he held his rough beard against her face. But the 

little child only sobbed and clung to him all the more." 

"What was the child's mistake about the street?" I 


" Well, she lived corner of Broadway and Walton 


"a light shon^- on the little 
girl's face." 


street, Brooklyn, and she spoke Walton as if it were 


A while ago a little boy, three and a half years old, 
living in Passaic Village, New Jersey, strayed away 
from home. He wandered to the railroad, and when 
he saw a car stop he thought it would be a nice thing 
to take a ride. So he climbed up the steps, got into 
the car, and rode to Jersey City. When the car stopped 
he wandered on to the ferry-boat with the surging 
crowd of passengers, and was soon at the foot of 
Courtlandt street, in the great City of New York. 
Here he played around a little while in high glee. By 
and by, as night came on, he began to be hungry and 
to cry for his father and mother. So a kind-hearted 
policeman picked him up, took him to the station-house, 
and the sergeant sent him to Mrs. Ewing's, at Police 

As soon as little Johnny was missed at home in 
Passaic, the search commenced. Dinner came, and no 
Johnny — then supper passed, and the father and mother 
began to be frantic. They searched everywhere for 
two days and two nights. The big foundry at Passaic 
was stopped, and one hundred workmen scoured the 
country. Then, as a last resort, his heart-broken fa- 
ther came to New York. After putting an advertise- 
ment in the Herald, he thought he would go to Police 

Johnny was such a bright little boy that the matron 
had taken him out with her shopping on Broadway. 


when the father came, so he sat down till her return, 
to question her about lost children. 

Judge of his astonishment and joy, after fifteen min- 
utes' waiting, when Johnny came flat upon him with the 

"Why, my little boy!" cried the father, "how did 
you get here ?" But Johnny was too full of joy to 
reply, and when his father went off to the telegraph 
office to tell the glad news to his mother, he cried 
till his father took him along too, and he wouldn't let 
go his father's hand till he got clear back to Passaic, 
for fear he would be lost again. 


" Do you ever have any rich people's children here?" 
I asked the matron. 

" Yes, frequently. They get lost, shopping with their 
mothers on Broadway, and the Broadway Police have 
orders not to take the lost children whom they find 
vO the station house, but to bring them directly here. 
And here their fathers and mothers frequently come 
after them." 

"What other children get cared for here?" I asked. 

"Well, the little Italian harp boys frequently come 
here with the police to stay over night, but after they 
get a nice warm breakfast, they suddenly remember 
where they live, and we let them go. They are very 
cute, they are!" 


Yesterday I met in the great, seething Broadway 

crowd three little lost children. They were struggling 
in the ceaseless ebb and flow of humanity on the corner 
of Fourteenth street, just by the statue of Lincoln. 
The youngest was a baby in arms, the next was a little 
girl prattler of three years, and the eldest, a boy, was, 
I should say, five. The little boy held the little baby 
tightly, and sobbed as if his swelling heart would break, 
while the little girl only looked very sad, without cry- 
ing. She wasn't old enough to know that she was 
lost. I was so much interested that I watched them 
for some minutes to see what they would do, but the 
more they walked the more they got lost. Pretty soon 
they sat down on the curbstone, and the little girl laid 
her head in the little boy's lap, while he continued to 
sob. Now quite a crowd collected around them, ask- 
ing them all sorts of questions, which they could not 
answer. They could not even tell where they lived — 
not even the street. In a few moments a policeman 
came along and tried to find out where the little things 
lived, but the more he questioned them the more 
frightened they got. 

"Shall I take you to your mother, Johnny?" asked 
the policeman, patting the little boy on the cheek ; but 
Johnny kept on saying as he had said for the last half 
hour, " O, I want my ma !" 

"Well, Johnny," said the policeman, "come with 
me and we will find ma. We'll go and see her." 

So Johnny took hold of one of the policeman's hands 
and his little sister the other, while he carried the 
baby in his arms and they all went off down Broad- 
way to the lost child department to find their mother. 


But alas ! they did not find her. 

After the theater, being down 
town, I thought I would run in 
and see Mrs. Ewing and the 
children. The kind matron had 
five lost children asleep in her 
cradles and cribs. 

"What has become of the 
little boy and girl?" I asked. 
" Here they are," she said, 
"by the fire waiting patiently." 
And there they were. Johnny 
had the little baby asleep in his 
arms, and his little sister was 
looking on and trying to advise 
him what to do. They were 
tending the baby like a little 
father and mother. 

I suppose their parents have 
been to get them before this 
time, but it is a queer thing that 
there are so many people who 
have never heard of the " Lost Children's Department," 
and when they lose their children they do not know 
where to go to find them. Remember this, parents : 
Whenever your child is lost, go straight to your own 
police station, and if the child is not there, go to Mrs. 
Ewing's rooms at Police Headquarters, on Mulberry 



George Harding, Esq., the distinguished Philadel- 
phia patent lawyer, and a brother of William Harding, 
the accomplished editor of the Philadelphia Inquirer, 
is remarkable for a retentive memory. 

On Saturday, Mr. Harding rode down to Wall street 
in a Broadway omnibus. At the Domestic Sewing- 
Machine building a beautiful young lady got in and 
handed fifty cents to the distinguished attorney, re- 
questing him to please hand it to the driver. 

"With pleasure," said Mr. Harding, at the same time 
passing the fifty cents up through the hole to the 

The driver made the change, and handed forty cents 
back to Mr. Harding, who quietly put it away into his 
vest pocket, and went on reading a mowing-machine 

Then all was silence. 

The young lady began to look nervously at Mr. 
Harding for her change. " Can it be possible that this 
is one of those polite confidence men we read of in 
books ?" she thought to herself. 

Then she looked up timidly and asked Mr. Harding 
something about the Brooklyn Ferry. 

" Oh, the boats run very regular — every three min- 
utes," replied the interrupted lawyer, trying to smile. 
Then he went on reading his brief. 


"Do the boats run from Wall street to Astoria?" 
continued the young lady. 

" I don't know, madame," replied i/r. H., petu- 
lantly ; " I'm not a resident of Nsw York : I'm a 

"Ah ! yes " — (then a silence). 

Mr. Harding again buried himself in his brief, while 
the young lady a/iemed and asked him what the fare 
was in the New York stages. 

"Why, ten cents, madame — ten cents." 

" But I gave you fifty cents to give to the driver," 

interrupted the young lady, "and " 

"Didn't he return your change? Is it possible? 
Here, driver !" the lawyer continued, dropping the brief 
and pulling the strap violently, "why the dickens don't 
you give the lady her — forty cents, sir, forty cents?" 

" I did give her the change. I gave forty cents to 
you, and you put it in your own pocket," shouted 
back the driver. 

"To me?" said Mr. Harding, feeling in his vest 
pocket, from which his fingers brought out four ten- 
cent notes. " Gracious goodness, madame ! I beg ten 

thousand pardons ; but — but " 

" Oh, never mind," said the lady, eye- 
ing him suspiciously; "you know a lady 
in a wicked city like New York has to 
look out for herself. It's no matter — 
it wasn't the forty cents ; but before I 
left home mother cautioned me against 

"OH, NEVER MIND!" ^^ confidence men> who look g Q 

good outside, but " 


"Goodness gracious! my dear woman!" exclaimed 
Mr. Harding, while all the passengers eyed him with 
suspicion. " I assure you " 

But the stage stopped then, and the young lady, 
holding fast to her ^port-money, got out and fled into 
the Custom House, while Mr. Harding went on rilling 
up in this form : 

" Goodness gracious ! Did you ever ? O -Lord ! 
what shall I do?" etc. 

The distinguished lawyer got so excited about the 
affair that he went back to Philadelphia next morning 
— a ruined man. He even forgot to take a $i 0,000 
fee which Ketchum was to pay him in a mowing-ma- 
chine case. He says he'd rather pay $10,000 than to 
let the Philadelphia fellows get hold of the story, for 
fear they would be asking him what he wanted to do 
with that poor woman's forty cents. 



Saratoga was greatly excited yesterday on the 
discovery of an appalling and unnatural crime. We 
give the particulars hastily as they came to us: 

As the guests of the United States Hotel were 
departing for the races Eli Perkins walked briskly up 
to the desk and informed Mr. Gage one of the proprie- 
tors of the States, that Governor Jewell, of Connecticut, 
had just thrown his son out of the window, and to 

" What window — where ?" interrupted a dozen voices 
at once. 

" Out of the fourth story back," said Mr. Perkins, 
u onto the picket fence " 

"What! threw his own son out of the window?" 
broke in Mr. Vanderbilt. 

" Yes I suppose it was his own son," said Mr. Per- 
kins quietly, " and a weakly son too. You see I 
wanted to see " 

" By heavens! What are we coming to? " exclaimed 
Robert Cutting and John Kelly, wringing their hand — 
" and what was the provocation? What had the son 

" Nothing at all," said Mr. Perkins. " You see, I 
asked Governor Jewell if his son was there. He said 
4 yes on the lounge here,' and threw " 



" I know," interrupted Mr. Travers, "the u — n natu- 
ral f — f— ather m — m made a g — grab and th — th — 
threw his own son down on the picket fence b — b — 
below. O, th— th— the f—f— fiend!" 

"Just so," said Mr. Perkins, lighting a cigar. 

By this time there was great excitement throughout 
the hotel. Ladies, headed by John Hay, white with 
excitement, came rushing over from the cottages, 
wringing their hands, and the stronger men, like Sen- 
ator Frelinghusen and Governor Cornell were ready to 
lynch the author of this fiendish act. As the local 
reporter of the Saratogian arrived on the spot; Mr. 
Gage and Mr. Tompkins, accompanied by Mr. Leonard 
Jerome and Colonel Kane, ran round the hotel to see 
the victim of this dreadful crime. Senator Warner 
Miller and Mayor Smith Ely accompanied them to take 
the dying boy from the sharp pickets and to take his 
post mortem statements. 

Eli Perkins was the only unexcited man about. He 
sat quietly reading his newspaper* 

" Why dont you get excited about this fiendish act, 
Eli?" exclaimed Mr. Marvin. 

" What fiendish act?" asked Mr. Perkins. 

" Why a man throwing his son — his only son out of a 
fourth story window." 

" I don't see anything fiendish about it," said Eli, " it 
was an old son and of no use to the Governor, and " 

" No use to the Governor! and do you think, because 
Governor Jewell had no use for his son he had a right 
to throw such a son out of the window ? " interrupted 
Isaac N. Phelps. 

" Why, of course he had a right to do as he chose 
with his own son," said Mr. Perkins. 


" As I was saying I told the Governor to just toss it 
down to me, and he gave it a throw, and — " 

"It? what do you mean by calling a boy an it? " in- 
terrupted a dozen voices. 

" Why who said it was a boy ? " asked Mr. Perkins, 
greatly surprised, " I said Governor Jewell threw his 
Sun, a weekly Sun, out of the window to me. It was 
an old Sun : he had read it and I wanted to read it 
myself, and — " 

In just two minutes by Judge Fitch's old yellow 
watch, the office was cleared and no one heard how 
Eli Perkins finished the sentence. Somebody told our 
reporter that Eli was trying to illustrate the proverb 
that " truth, absolute truth was sometimes stranger than 
fiction." — Daily Saratogian, 


The other day, our little boy went over to Jacob 
Abraham's clothing store to get a two-dollar bill 
changed. By some mistake, Abraham made a mistake 
in the change — paid him twenty-five cents too much. 

We sent little Frank back to return the extra quarter, 
which by the way looked a little ragged. Entering the 
store and holding out the ragged money, the boy said : 

"You changed a two-dollar bill for me, here's a 
quarter — " 

" Shanged nodinks! I shanged no pills mit you! "ex- 
claimed Jacob, thinking Frank wanted him to take a 
ragged quarterback. 

" Yes you did and here's a quarter — " 

"Mein Gott, I vas a liars! never in my life did I see 
sich a poys. I dells you you never shanged me mit any 

" Why I was here not half an hour ago, and you 
gave me a quarter — " 

" Gif you some quarters, gif you some quarters! Got 
in hamil, young feller, do yon dink I pin gone grazy 
mit my prains? I don't gif you some quarters. Now, 
make yourself seldom, ride away, pefore I but shoulders 
on your head," and he commenced to move out from 
behind the counter. 

" O, you didn't give me the quarter! All right; all 
right, squire. I'm just a quarter ahead." and he started 
to go out. 

352 ... 


•* Now," said the German, putting himself in an atti- 
tude of admiration, " dot is vat I likes to see petter as 
nothings else. I lofe an honest poy, and I shoost been 
trying you, sonny. Yaw it was me what makes 
shange mit ter pill, and I knows it all der same, but I 
vas drying you, and I gifs you a nice pig apples for 
your honesty," and (pocketing the quarter) he led the 
boy back to the rear end of the store, and selecting an 
apple about the size of a marble, he presented it to the 
boy, and patting him on the head, said : " Now, run 
along home, sonny, and tell your volks vat a nice 
p-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-1 old shentleman it vas who gif you dot nice 



The expression, " Get there Eli," originated in this 

Eli Perkins took a special train from Mason City, 
Iowa, through Iowa to meet a lecture engagement. 
The train went 80 miles an hour. Everywhere along 
the track the people shouted 

"Get there Eli!" 

"Get there Eli!!" 

Mr. Perkins describes this trip in the following letter 
to the Chicago Tribune: — 

On the cars up in Iowa, Dec, 1881. 

Editor Chicago Tribune: — 

I can now see why Geo. W. Curtis, Wendell Phillips, 
Dr. Chapin, Anna Dickinson and a host of veteran lec- 
turers have also practically retired from the platform. 
They could not stand the wear and tear of railroads, 
sleeping-cars, night changes and irregular meals. Rid- 
ing every day, and talking every night, wears them 
out, and we see them shattered and broken down. 
Anna Dickinson's constitution is ruined; Saxe was 
smashed up on a train; Gough is on his last legs and 
has to be nursed like a child, and Wendell Phillips is so 
feeble that he refuses to lecture where he cannot return 
to Boston the same night. So, as the veterans become 



old and spavined, the call upon the younger orators, 
humorists and readers increases. The insatiable public 
demands more victims! 

How far does the average lecturer travel during the 

Well, last Winter I lectured 127 times and traveled 
over thirty-nine thousand miles (the exact number was 

39>34 2 -) 

One night I rode all night long over the prairie from 

Osage, Iowa, to catch the morning train at Northwood 

for Des Moines, only to find it taken off. I shall never 

forget that morning! Benumbed with cold, we rode up 

to the depot, and I shouted : 

" Has the five o'clock train left for Mason City?" 

" The what train left for Mason City ? " asked the 
agent, rubbing his eyes. 

" The five o'clock train! " 

" Why, goodness gracious, man, she left last Fall ! 
She's a Summer train; she won't run again until next 
April, but you can sit around the depot here and wait 
for her; it's only four months, and — " 

" Thunderation — !" and then I sat down and almost 
cried. A thousand people waiting for me in Des 
Moines, and I a thousand miles away waiting for a 
Summer train? Oh, it was too horrible — this riding all 
night over a dreary prairie to arrive at a frozen-up sta- 
tion to wait for a Spring train ! 

What did I do? 

Why, I took another carraige, rode thirty-five miles 
further over the prairie to Mason City, saw the Super- 
intendent of the Central Iowa, and with tears in my eyes 
told him my story. 


" Why, good Lord, Eli you needn't feel so bad ; we 
can get you there yet," said Mr. Parker, as he slung his 
right fist down on to the telegraph table. 

" How? " I asked pleadingly. 

" Why, telegraph President Grinnell. He's a Gar- 
field man and so are you. Why, he would send you to 
the devil for that Garfield interview of yours ! he'd a — " 

" Click, click, click," went the telegraph, and then 
this reply came from President Grinnell: 

" Yes. Can have an engine for $50. Get Eli through 
to Des Moines if you have to kill him to do it!" 

" In ten minutes I was on the engine, and away we 
went flying through Iowa. Oh how we did fly ! " 

The village of Hampton looked like one long house. 
More coal, and the stations began to hitch together. 
Whistled for Ackley, but the locomotive ran clear 
ahead of the sound and beat the whistle into town forty 
seconds. In fact we were off five miles towards Mar- 
shalltown before the whistle came loafing into Ackley. 
We went through Marshalltown like a streak of chain 
lightning. The town looked like a few splotches of 
maroon paint on a side hill. The people all shouted : 

"Get there Eli!" 

"Get there Eli!!" 

Whistled for Grinnell, turned the porner, and ran into 
Des Moines at 9 o'clock and five minutes, tired, black 
and miserable, but went to the Opera House and talked 
as though I had just come over in a carriage from the 
bridal chamber of the City Hotel. The audience 
screamed and laughed when I told them about freezing 
my ears, and, when I told them what mental agony I 
had suffered during the last twenty-four hours, they 
screamed again; they actually thought I was lying. 


Oh its glorious Mr. Editor! glorious to deliver a humor- 
ous lecture with frozen ears and on an empty stomach! 

But I am not selfish Mr. Editor; oh no! so the Bu- 
reau can let Mark Twain and Beecher, and a lot of 
those old fellows who haven't long to live, take the rest 
of the glory. I think I will stay and suffer in my sweet 
little cosy brown-stone house this winter, unless the 
Bureau has some deep-seated grudge against some 
wicked town and must have me to cancel it. In the 
meantime, may a kind Providence protect you. 

From your friend, 


P. S. My address henceforth will be in the bosom of 
my family: 44 East 76th St., New York City. 


They told me the following religious anecdote about 
Josh Billings one night when I lectured up in Pough- 

It seems that Josh used to be an auctioner, and they 
say that in times of great mental strain, has been known 
to swear. Many people do the same. Horace Greeley 
did, so does ex-Senator Chandler. Well, on one of 
these occasions, old Deacon Crosby came to Mr. Billings 
and expostulated with him. Said he — 

"Joshua, you should not swear. It is wrong, Joshua, 
— all wrong." 

" I know it, said Josh," almost shedding tears in hi s 
excessive humility — " but, the fact is, Deacon, I don't 
mean anything by it. Why, Deacon, I don't mean any 
more by my swearing than you do by your praying." 


I lectured in a good old Quaker town up in Penn- 
sylvania a few weeks ago, writes Eli Perkins, and after 
the lecture the Lecture Committee came to me with my 
fee in his hand, and said as he counted the roll of bills : 

" Eli, my friend does thee believe in the maxims of 
Benjamin Franklin?" 

" Yea," I said. 



" Well, friend Eli, Benjamin Franklin, in his Poor 
Richard maxims, says that ' Time is money/ " 

" Yea, verily, I have read it," I said. 

"Well, Eli, if 'time is money,' as thy friend, Poor 
Richard says, and thee believe so, then verily I will 
keep the money and let thee take it out in time." 


My Uncle Consider stood looking at one of the new 
silver dollars, and, seeing "In God we trust" on one 
side, and the " Uizited States of America" on the other, 
sadly remarked: 

" Well, Eli, I knew we were becoming"" a very 
wicked and worldly people, but I never expected to live 
to see the day when God and the United States would 
be on opposite sides." " Arise and sing ! " 


Whoever plants a leaf beneath the sod, 
And waits to see it push away the clod, 
He trusts in God. 

Whoever says, when clouds are in the sky, 
" Be patient, heart; light breaketh by-and-by." 
He trusts in God. 

Whoever sees, 'neath Winter's field of snow, 
The silent harvests of the future grow, 
God's power must know. 

Whoever lies down on his couch to sleep, 
Content to lock each sense in slumber deep, 
Knows God will keep. 


Whoever says "' to-morrow," " The unknown," 
" The future," trusts unto that power alone 
He dares disown. 

The heart that looks on when the eyelids close, 
And dares to live when life has only woes, 
God's comforts knows. 



Three times I walked by, and finally I formed a 
courageous resolution, and, hanging my head as a mem- 
"oer of the Young Men's Christian Association does 
when he goes into the Mabille or Harry Hill's, I 
plunged in. I trembled from head to foot as soon as I 
entered the door. I couldn't look the pretty barberess 
in the face. I couldn't summon up courage enough to 
speak to her. In fact, I had nothing to say. So I 
stood and looked very sheepish. 

" Have a shave sir?" said the pretty barberess, advan- 
cing with a razor in one hand, and with the other 
pointing to the chair. 

" Yes, shave ! " I gasped, and flung myself into a 

" Why, you've just been shaved! " she said, drawing 
her silky palm across my face. 

" Have I? " I said, and then recollecting, I stammered, 
" Ah, yes, shaved this morning early. I always shave 
twice a day." 

w Shave close ? " asked the pretty girl. 


u Yes, the closer the better."- 

" Hair cut, too ? " 

( ' Yes, everything ! " 

And then she commenced. With a little camel's hair 
brush she painted my face with white soapsuds. Then 
she put her little fingers plump against my face and 
rubbed it all over. She stood behind me and put her 
arms around my neck. I saw her in the glass in iiont. 
I never felt so in my life. " What would my wife say 
to this?" I thought. " Still everybody in Detroit does it, 
and why not I ? " Sol shut my eyes and let her go on. 
After rubbing her velvet fingers over my cheeks and 
chin until the beard was softened, she took out a razor 
honed it, and placing one arm clear around my head, 
and her hand against my face to steady it, commenced 
the downward movement of the blade. Once or twice 
I tried to look the pretty barberess in the face, but I 
couldn't. So I sat and took it with my eyes shut. I 
don't think I enjoyed it. And still I let her go on. She 
shaved me, drew her silky hand all over my face to see 
if it was closely shaven, and then combed my hair. 

" Shall I wax your mustache, sir?" 

" Yes, wax away ! " 

Then she leaned over me until I could hear her 
breathe and feel her heart beat, placed her little fingers 
under my mustache, and waxed the ends. Now, I never 
wear my mustache waxed, but I couldn't ask her to 

"There! does it suit?" she said as she dusted off my 
neck and removed the apron. 

"Yes, its just right — lovely! " I said, " too sweet for 
anything!" and then strode down to the depot to find 

the train just gone, and that thfs Detroit barberess had 
caused me to miss a lecture engagement and a hundred- 
dollar fee. — 2V. T Sun. 


No man, says a well known book renewer, has been 
a more patient or a harder working journalist than Eli 
Perkins. He has been faithful and deserving, working 
up from the bottom round, until now through his works 
he is known wherever the English language is spoken. 
For years he contributed his column daily to the New 
York Commercial Graphic and Sun. His daily articles 
in the Commercial in 1872 ran the circulation of that 
Tournal from 3,000 to 21,000 in six weeks. 

Why was this? 

Because his articles are always fresh, vigorous and 
original. He has a moral point to make in every para- 
graph. It may be hidden to the casual reader, but the 
thoughtful can see his aim. For example, here are two 
cf his simple paragraphs. See what a scathing satire it 
is on the Californians who treat the poor Chinamen like 
dogs — who, while complaining of the Chinaman's dishon- 
esty, are ten times as dishonest and reckless themselves! 

These are the little satirical paragraphs: 


I met a Californian to-day who says he don't believe 
Chinamen have ordinary common sense. 
" They haven't ordinary sagacity, Uncle Eli," he said. 
« Why," I asked. 


" Because," said he, growing excited about it, " be- 
cause, b-e-c-a-u-s-e they haven't." 

" But why!" I asked. " I want to know an instance 
where a Chinaman has ever shown himself to be a 
darn fool." 

" Why, Eli, I've known a Chinaman to secrete two 
aces in his sleeves, and when I've played the three aces 
I had secreted in my sleeves, why there'd be five ac^s 
out ! How absurd ! " 

" Yes, that was very foolish for the Chinaman ; but 
what other cases of foolishness have you seen among the 
Chinamen?" I asked. 

" Why, it was only the day before I left 'Frisco, Mr. 
Perkins, that we put some tar and feathers on one of 
them Johnnys, just to have a little fun, and then set fire 
to it to amuse the children, and the darn fool ran into a 
clothes-press and spoiled a dozen of my wife's dresses 
putting out the fire, though I told him better all the time. 
Dog-on-it, it is enough to make a man loose faith in the 
whole race!" 

And then that good Californian threw a colored 
waiter out of a fourth story window, and went on cutting 
off his coupons. 

Day after day Mr. Perkins used to write these para- 
graphs till he found them floating all over the world. 



" May I call you Paula? " he asked modestly. 
" Yes," she said faintly. 


" Dear Paula! — may I call you that ?" 

" I suppose so." 

" Do you know I love you? " 


" And shall I love you always ? " 

" If you wish to." 

" And will you love me — will you," he repeated. 

" You may love me," she said again. 

" But don't you love me in return ? " 

" I love you to love me." 

" Won't you say something more explicit? " 

" I would rather not." 

They were married and happy within three months. 


Her eyes shone a beautiful, joyous light when he lean- 
ed forward and said: 

" Well, Julia, to be frank with you, I think that under 
some circumstances I might love you. Now do you 
love me ? " 

Yes, Augustus, I do love you, you know I do," and 
then she flung her alabaster arms around his neck. 

" I am very glad, Julia," he said, " for I like to be loved." 

" Well, Augustus ? " 

But Augustus never said another word. Fashionable 
fellows never say more than that nowadays. 

They were never married. 

Moral. — Girls, never tell a fellow that you love him 
till he has asked you to be his wife. 


Mrs. Van Auken, of Fifth Avenue, recently em- 
ployed a Chinese cook — Ah Sin Foo. When the smil- 
ing Chinaman came to take his place, Mrs. Van Auken 
asked him his name. 

"What is your name, John? " commenced the lady. 

"Oh! my namee Ah Sin Foo." 

" But I can't remember all that lingo, my man. I'll 
call you Jimmy." • 

" Velly wellee. Now wha chee namee 1 callee you? " 
asked Ah Sin, looking up in sweet simplicity. 

"Well, my name is Mrs. Van Auken; call me that. 

"Oh!" me can no 'member Missee Vanne Auken. 
Too big piecee namee. I callee you Tommy — Missee 



" Captain Mason used to be a drinker and a fighter 
himself like the other Hickory Bayou boys," said Col. 
Baker, the chairman of the Cairo (111.) Lecture Associa- 
tion. " He's joined the church now, but he always takes 
care of every drunken man he sees. See, he's putting 
Whiskey Bill into his wagon now." 

" But why does he interest himself so for Whiskey 
Bill?" I asked. 

" Well, as I was saying, the Captain used to be a 
drinker and a fighter himself. He was sentenced to be 
shot once in the army for fighting. He struck an officer, 
— got on a drunken frolic, and " 


" How did the Captain escape? " I asked. 

" Well," said the Colonel, " Mason, with a dozen 
fellows from the Hickory Bayou enlisted in my regiment. 
He was a splendid soldier, — always ready for battle, — 
one of the best men in the regiment, but he would have 
his sprees. One day, about three weeks before the battle 
of Mission Ridge, Mason brought a canteen of whiskey 
into camp, and, always generous, went to giving it to the 
boys. This was against orders; so I ordered my Major 
to arrest him and put him in the guard-house. Mason 
found out that the Major was after him with a squad of 
men, and, full of deviltry, he commenced dodging around 
behind the tents to keep from being arrested. But pretty 
quick in trying to keep away from the men, he ran 
square against the Major." 

"Here, you rascal! " said the Major, seizing him by 
the coat-collar, without giving him a chance to explain, 
"Now you walk to the guard-house! I'll fix you, you 

" But; in the excitement of the moment, Mason 
knocked the Major flat, and then he went and gave him- 
self up." 

" What was done about it?" I asked. 

"Well, Mason was tried before a court-martial for 
striking a superior officer, sentenced to be shot, and the 
sentence was sent to Gen. Jeff C. Davis to be approved. 
Then poor Mason was imprisoned on bread and water, 
with a ball and chain to each foot." 

"Did Gen. Davis approve the sentence?" 

" Yes, he approved it." 

"But how did Mason escape being shot?" 

" Well, the next day, before the approved sentence ar- 
rived, came the battle of Mission Ridge, and our regi- 

ment was ordered forward. Mason, of course, was in the 
rear, under guard, with a ball chained to his ankles. 
We heard the Rebel canon in front all the forenoon. 
We knew there was a big battle on, and we needed all 
our men. So I rode over to the guard-house and told 
Mason that we would have to leave him behind alone 
with his ball and chain on till the battle was over." 

"Let me go with the boys, Colonel!" pleaded Mason, 
" I don't want to see the boys in a fight without me." 

" But you might escape, Mason. You know there is 
a sentence hanging over you." 

"By heavens, Colonel! you ain't going into this fight 
without me!" and the tears came to his eyes. 

" Got to, Mason," I said " I can't trust you." 

" Then," continued the narator, " the order came from 
Gen. Davis for our regiment to move up and charge a 
Rebel redoubt, and the boys dashed forward. It was an 
awful fight. Twice they enfiladed us, and the Rebel 
bullets mowed down our men by dozens, while the Rebel 
flag still waved on the redoubt." 

"Colonel, you must capture that redoubt!" was the 
order that came from Gen. Davis. 

" Our men were now badly tired out, and the dead 
and wounded lay all around us; but I got our men to- 
gether, and made the final charge. Gods! what a 
charge! My horse was killed under me. The men went 
forward in a shower of bullets. I thought they were 
going straight for that flag; then all at once they 
wavered. The bullets flew like rain, and the advance 
men were all shot down. There was no one to lead, 
and I thought all was lost. Just then I saw a man come 
rushing up from the rear. He grabbed a dead soldier's 
repeating-rifle, pushed right through the dead and dying, 


reached the head, and pushed up to the redoubt. The 
boys saw him, took courage, and followed. In a moment 
I saw the brave fellow swing his rifle around him on the 
top of the redoubt, grasp the flag-staff and break it off, 
while the boys struggled up the side and emptied their 
guns into the retreating Rebels. 

The day was ours! As I came up I shouted! 

" Who took the flag, boys? " 

" It was Mason!" said the boys, and looking down, I 
saw a broken chain and a shackle still on his ankle ! " 

Then the narator's voice choked him, and the tears 
came into his eyes. 

" I couldn't help it, Colonel," said Mason, " I couldn't 
see the boys fighting alone; so I got the ax and pounded 
off the ball and chain, and now, Colonel, I'll go back and 
put 'em on again." 

" Go back and put them on again ! " I almost cried. 
"No, sir! Mason, I'll put them on myself first." "Then," 
said the Colonel, " I reflected that this wasn't military 
and I told the brave fellow to stay with two of the 

" That night," continued the Colonel, " I wrote over 
to Gen. Davis about Mason's bravery; how he captured 
the Rebel flag and led the regiment to victory; in fact, 
saved the battle ; and begged him if he had not approved 
Mason's sentence of death, to send it back to the Court 
unapproved. In an hour the messenger came back with 
the paper. The sentence had been approved before the 
battle, but Gen. Davis took his pen and wrote across the 

" The findings of the Court disapproved. Private 
Thomas Mason, for distinguished bravery in capturing a 
Rebel flag, promoted to a Second Lieutenantcy." 


" What did Mason say when you told him about his 
promotion?" I asked. 

" Well," said the Colonel, " I read him the death-sen- 
tence, and its approval first. Mason sank down, his 
face fell on his arm, and I heard a deep groan. Then he 
said as his eyes filled with tears : 

" Well, Colonel it is hard, but I can stand it if any one 

" But here is another clause, Mason," I said. " On 
account of your splendid bravery yesterday you have 
been promoted to a Second Lieutenantcy." 

" What me ? Colonel, me ? " 

"Yes Lieut. Mason, you!" 

"Thank God!" burst out, and the bravest man in the 
Northern army stepped into his tent to send a streak of 
sunlight to cheer up his broken-hearted mother." 

" And that's the man who just lifted Whiskey Bill into 
his wagon! " 

" Yes, sir, that's the man, and he's brave enough to do 
anything, from pulling down a Rebel flag to leading a 
drunken comrade out of a saloon." 



On the wing, Feb. 9. — The reason why I urge upon 
every one, however smart, not to put too much confi- 
dence in his own smartness, will be seen further on. 

Yesterday I had to wait several hours at Monmouth, 
111., a station on the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy 
Road. Monmouth has been frequented by three-card 
monte men for years. I have always known it, have 
often seen them there, and have often written about 

Well, yesterday they were there again. One of them, 
with a Canada-Bill dialect, wanted to show me some 
strange " keerds " that he got up in Chicago. 

" What were you doing up there ?" I asked, knowing 
that he was a three-card monte man, and feeling an in- 
terest in his modes. 

" Me and pap," he said, " took up some hogs. We 

took up a pile on 'em, an' made a heap; but pap he got 

swindled by a three-keerd monte man. Got near ruined. 

But I grabbed the keerds, and I'll show you how they 

done it." 

" Never mind, boys," I said, " I know all about it. I 

know the whole racket. Now I'll keep quiet, mind my 

own business, and let you try your monte game on some 

one a little more fresh." 

The monte-boy saw at once that I was posted, and 

soon turned his attention to a good-looking, jolly, young, 



and innocent clergyman in the depot. In a few moments 
I saw that the innocent clergyman had become deeply 
interested. His interest grew as he watched the cards. 
There were three ordinary business-cards, like these: 

Radway's Ready Relief, 
Dr. Radway, N. Y. 

Royal Baking Powder, 
New York. 

Weber's Pianos, 
New York. 

" I believe I can tell which card has Weber's Pianos 
on it," said the innocent clergyman. 

" All right — try it said the monte-man, flopping them 

"There, that one! " said the clergyman, smiling. 

Sure enough he was right. 

" I don't see how your poor father could lose all his 
money at such a simple game as that," said the clergy- 
man. " Why your eyes can see the cards all the time. 

" Suppose you bet $5 that you can tell," suggested the 

" All right, I'll risk it," said the clergyman, " though I 
don't like to win money that way." 

The cards were turned, and of course the poor, un- 
suspecting clergyman lost. Again he tried it, hoping to 
get his $5 back, but lost again. Then he put up his last 
dollar and lost that. Then seeming to realize his situa- 


tion, he out his hand to his head and walked out of the 

" To think," he said, " that I, a clergyman, should get 
caught at this game. Why I might have known it was 
three-card monte. I,ve no respect for myself," and he 
wiped his eyes like a man who felt the most acute con* 

"Why don't you complain of the scoundrel ?" I said. 

" I would, but I'm a clergyman, and if they should 
hear of my sin and foolishness in Peoria, I would be 
relieved. My family would suffer for my sins." 

" Then I'd keep quiet about it," I said; " but let it be a 
lesson to you never to think you know more than other 

" But they've got my last dollar, and I want to go to 
Peoria. I must be there to preach on Sunday " said the 
innocent, suffering man. 

" Can't you borrow of some one? " I asked. 

" No one knows me, and I dont like to tell my name 
here after this occurrence," said the poor man half crying. 

" Very well," I said, "hand me your card, and I will 
let you have $5, and you can send it to .me at the Palmer 
House, Chicago, when you get to Peoria," and I handed 
the poor man the money j 

A moment afterwards I spoke to the agent at the 
depot about the wickedness of those monte-men, and told 
him how I had to lend the poor clergyman $5 to ge 

" And you lent him five dollars ? " 

" Yes, I lent the poor man the money." 

" Well, by the great guns ! " and then he swung his 
hat and yelled to the operator: 


" Bill, you know that ministerial-looking man around 

" You mean the capper for the three-card monte-men, 
don't you? — Bill Keyes — Missouri Bill." 

« Yes." 

" Well, by the great guns, he's the best man in the 
whole gang; he's just struck old Eli Perkins for $5. It 
does beat me what blankety-blank fools them darned 
literary fellers are!" Yours, tearfully. — Chicago Tribune, 



I studied law once in the Washington law School. 
In fact, I was admitted to the bar. I shall never for- 
get my first case. Neither will my first client. I was 
called upon to defend a young man for passing counter- 
feit money. I knew the young man was innocent, be- 
cause I lent him the money that caused him to be ar- 
rested. Well, there was a hard feeling against the 
young man in the county, and I pleaded for a change of 
venue. I made a great plea for it. I can remember, 
even now, how fine it was. It was filled with choice 
rhetoric and passionate oratory. I quoted Kent and 
Blackstone and Littleton, and cited precedent after pre- 
cedent from the Digest of State Reports. I wound up 
with a tremendous argument, amid the applause of all 
the younger members of the bar. Then, sanguine of 
success, I stood and awaited the Judge's decision. It 
soon came. The Judge looked me full in the face and 


" Your argument is good, Mr. Perkins, very good, 
and I've been deeply interested in it and when a case 
comes up that your argument fits, I shall give your re- 
marks all the consideration that they merit. Sit down!" 

This is why I gave up law and resorted to lecturing 
and writing for the newspapers. — N. T, Sun, 


When I lectured before the Carlisle (Pa.) Teachers' 
Institute they told me innumerable stories about that 
grim old patriot and Anti-Slavery Agitator, Thad 

One day the old man was practising in the Carlisle 
courts and he didn't like the ruling of the presiding 
Judge. A second time the Judge ruled against " old 
Thad," when the old man got up with scarlet face and 
quivering lips and commenced tying up his papers as if 
to quit the court room. 

" Do I understand, Mr. Stevens," asked the Judge, 
eyeing " old Thad " indignantly, " that you wish to show 
your contempt for this Court?" 

"No, sir; no, sir." replied " old Thad." "I didn't 
want to show my contempt, sir; I'm trying to conceal 
it!"— iV. T, Star. * 


The witty paragraphers will have their fun at the 
expense of their brother journalists. Eli Perkins and 
George Alfred Townsend being known to every reader 


in the country, become handy pegs for the paragrapher 
to hang his jokes on. Indeed, Perkins and Townsend 
are used by the press as lay figures around which a 
great deal of newspaper fun is draped. 

For instance, the witty Chicago Ti?nes says: 

" We see Eli Perkins has writen a long letter in the 
New York Sun on the Pennsylvania gas wells. He 
speaks very favorably of them, which is very generous 
on the part of Eli, when we come to think that these 
gas wells are the only real rivals he has." 

Then Gregory, the wit of the Buffalo Express, says: 

" The evidence came out in the trial of Robert Smith, 
of Herkimer county, for incendiarism, that he burnt a 
neighbor's house the night that Eli Perkins lectured in 
that town. If Mr. Smith can prove by competent wit- 
nesses that he did actually commit the great crime after 
hearing Eli Perkins lecture, the jury will, no doubt, 
bring in a verdict of justifiable incendiarism." 

In return for this witty assault, Eli Perkins sharpens 
his pen and hangs this joke on George Alfred Town- 

" When George Alfred Townsend had a headache in 
Saratoga, last summer, he didn't drink the Congress 
water to cure it, but he quietly went across the street 
into Deacon Newcomb's garden, and laid a large cab- 
bage leaf in the top of his hat, when his headache imme- 
diately disappeared. The cure was effected through 
the well-known homeopathic principle that ' like cures 
like.' " 

Then Mr. Watterson, of the Louisville Courier Jour- 
nal, defends Mr. Perkins thus: 


"Eli Perkins a liar? Perish the thought! We have 
always considered Eli Perkins the centennial truth 
teller — he tells a truth every hundred years." 


Eli Perkins ran across a San Francisco man a few 
days ago in Chicago who was travelling for pleasure. 

" But," said the great Gotham fabricator. " You do 
not seem to be having such a very hilarious time." 

" No ; I'm not travelling for my own pleasure, but 
for my wife's pleasure." 

" Oh ! then your wife is with you ? " 

"No; oh, no; she is in San Francisco." — San Fran- 
cisco Chronicle, 


To-day I sat in a car-seat on the Lake Shore Road, 
behind a pale, care-worn young lady, who was taking a 
little boy from Cleveland to Ashtabula. As the little 
boy was of a very inquiring mind, and as everything 
seemed to attract his attention, I could not help listening 
to some of his questions. 

"What is that Auntie?" the little boy commenced, 
as he pointed to a heap of yellow corn. 

" O, that's corn dear," answered the care-worn lady. 

" What is corn, Auntie? " 

" Why, corn is corn, dear." 

" But what is corn made of ? " 

" Why, corn is made of dirt and water, and air, 

" Who makes it, Auntie? " 

" God makes it, dear." 

" Does He make it in the day-time or in the night? " 

" In both, dear." 

"And Sundays?" 

"Yes; all the time." 

" Ain't it wicked to make corn on Sunday, Auntie?" 

" O, I don't know. Do keep still, Freddy — that's a 
dear! Auntie is tired." 

After remaining quiet a moment, little Freddy broke 

" Where do stars come from. Auntie ? " 


B I don't know ; nobody knows." 

M Did the moon lay 'em? " 

" Yes, I guess so," replied the wicked lady. 

" Can the moon lay eggs, too? " 

" I suppose so, don't bother me!" 

A short silence, when Freddy broke out again. 

" Fanny Mason says oxins is a owl, Auntie, is they? ' : 

" O, perhaps so." 

" I think a whale could lay eggs, don't you, Auntie ? " 

" O, yes — I guess so!" said the shamless woman. 

" Did you ever see a whale on his nest ? " 

" O, I guess so." 


" O, I don't know ! Do keep still, Freddy ! " And 
the lady gave a sigh and looked out of the window. 

A moment afterwards Freddy looked out of the win- 
dow and saw a man milking a cow. 

" What is he doing to the cow, Auntie? " 

" Milking her, dear." 

" Where do they put the milk in, Auntie?" 

" O, in her mouth ! " 

" Did you ever see them put the milk in? " 

" O, yes." 


" I mean No. Freddy, you must he quiet I'm getting 
crazy ! " 

" What makes you crazy, Auntie! " 

" O, dear, you ask so many questions." 

The little boy seemed to be puzzled and thoughtful 
a moment; but soon his curiosity got the better of him, 
and, as the cars passed a pasture in which were a sheep 
and a lamb, he asked: 

" Where do lambs come from, Auntie?" 


"O! from the old sheep. The old sheep has them." 

" Can little boys have lambs? " 

" Certainly. I'll let you have a lamb, Freddy, when 
you get home." 

" Did you ever have a lamb, Auntie?" 

" O, of course dear." 


"O, Freddy, do stop! You ask such foolish questions. 
I'm all fagged ont. You will drive me crazy ; and then 
the poor, worn-out woman leaned her aching head on 
the back of the forward seat, while Freddy busied him- 
self placing his mouth against the window and solilo- 
quized in a sing-song tone: 

" Mary had a little lamb! 

" Sheep had a little lamb! 

"Auntie had a little lamb! 

"O, Auntie! Auntie!" 

" What is it, Freddy? " asked the poor woman wak- 
ing up. 

" Did you ever see a little fly eat sugar? " 

"Yes, dear." 


" Freddy ! sit down on that seat and be still or I'll 
shake you. I won't be tormented to death. Now, not 
another word." And the lady pointed her finger 
sharply at the little boy, as if she was going to stick it 
through him. 

If she had been a wicked man she would have sworn; 
and still we have eight million little boys like Freddy 
in the United States, each one causing more or less pro- 

And, notwithstanding all this, the Y. M. C. A's 
throughout the country denounce Herod and Pharoah ai 


biased men, because they ordered all the children killed 
—except their own.-—" Chicago Times" 

" Did any of you ever see an elephant's skin?" in- 
quired a teacher of an infant class. 
" I have," exclaimed one. 
" Where ? " asked the teacher. 
" On the elephant." 

Flora pointed pensively to the masses of clouds in 
the sky, saying: 

"I wonder where those clouds are going ?" and her 
brother remarked; 

" I think they are going to thunder." 

Why will young ladies lace so tight? 

My Uucle Consider says our New York young ladies 
lace tight so as to show economical young fellows how 
frugal they are — how little waste they can get along 
with. They don't lace so as to show their beaus how 
much squeezing they can stand, and not hurt 'em, oh, no ! 





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